


A Reflection in Your Eyes

by marquis1305



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adopting Strays, Arguing, Best Friends, Circle of Magi, Comfort, F/F, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Forced adoption, Friendship, Knight-Enchanters, Mage-Templar War, Mercenaries, Necromancy, Open Relationships, Platonic Relationships, Pre-Haven, Reunions, Slow Burn, Smut, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-03-29 14:43:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 23,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13929231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marquis1305/pseuds/marquis1305
Summary: What happens when a Loyalist Circle Mage, raised to exude poise and elegance, recruits the services of mercenary band, featuring one Tal-Vasoth Mercenary with a proclivity for Necromancy and punching people in the face?Mesara Trevelyan wasn't certain what she was expecting when her fellow mages hired the Frostblades to protect them on the way to the Conclave, but Damaia Adaar certainly was not it. No more than she expected the Qunari mage to almost instantly attach and "adopt" her as another stray in their merry band. Miraculously, they make it to Haven, just in time to see all hell break loose.... Literally.





	1. On the Other Side of the Mirror

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as a quick one shot for my DA companion Character Damaia Adaar, but somehow the plot bunnies started to multiply, and here we are. I am currently working on the second chapter, and will add tags as the story develops. More than likely, the rating will go up, at which point I will mark chapters with any content above mature.

The sword dropped heavily towards her. Quickly she shoved her stave up in the air, meeting it with enough force to hear the wood groan in protest; Vincento would most likely murder her if she ruined another staff, this one alone was the third one she had damaged this month. She could hear the Templar gritting his teeth as he continued his downward press, Steely gaze glaring down at her from the Templars helm. She let her arms give slightly, allowing for the blade to press further towards her, better to risk injury than find herself without a staff.

“Demona! Behind!”

Risking a quick glance over her shoulder, she caught sight of the Archer who have been dancing his way around the field. His bow now raised in her direction. She waited until she could hear the twang of the bow string then quickly dropped to one knee. The Templar she had been facing caught suddenly off balance by the move, and slipped forward, catching the arrow with his shoulder where once her back had made an easy target. Using the templar’s momentum, she twisted her staff from under the blade, let her hands drop together for a solid grip, and swung up and around her head. The movement ending with the staff crashing soundly into the man’s right knee, the crack echoing into the sounds of the turbulent battle raging about them.

As the templar buckles under his newly shattered knee, Damaia rose to her feet, and with a great over handed swing, felled the man with a blow to the head. She turned and let her gaze flip to each of her compatriots, counting each of the twelve others, determining where she would be of most use. With the quick flick of her wrist, her fingertips started crackling with unspent energy. Thrusting her palm forward, lightening arced through the air, landing with a sizzle upon the chest plate of the archer who had threatened her earlier. Knocking him back before he could manage the shot at Vashta, the large Qunari warrior battling with a Templar stalker on the other side of the field. Her dark, coarse hair started to lift with the static energy still coursing through her veins as she shot off another bolt towards a templar harassing Clarisse, the company’s healer. 

The blow glanced off, but caught the Templar’s attention, enough for Clarrisse to slip away unmolested. She watched as her newest opponent charged in her direction, an apostate Qunari considered a higher threat than a slight elf. Bracing herself, she lifted her staff, allowing the glow of the crystal to brighten, the light playing against the bright red Vitaar painted on her slate skin, glinting off the ivory of her horns. Slowly, she levers the staff forward, until it is perpendicular with the ground. Held loosely in her hands. Just as the templar lifts his sword for an overcut swing, Damaia spins to the left, staff following in a wide arc. Only to have the staff catch on the man’s shield. A sudden burst of pain shooting through her right-side alerts her to the fact that she didn’t completely dodge the blow. A shout of pain slips past her full lips, followed by hissed words behind clenched teeth.

Slowly, a mist of red gathers around her feet, trailing from several bodies that litter the ground. When her eyes open, they are tinged with crimson. The templar takes a staggered step back as the bleeding wound knits itself shut, the red mist hovering around it menacingly. 

“Blood magic!” The words sound like venom dripping behind a steel helm. Brown eyes wide with hatred and fear. 

“Not every mage is a maleficarum,” Damaia’s gravelly voice rumbles from deep in her chest. The Templar draws upon his abilities to Silence her casting. Damaia smirks, “And not every mage is reliant upon their spells.”

She charges forward, shoulder down, tackling the templar to the blood-stained grass. Staff lying forgotten a few feet away. The two tumble over each other for a few minutes, each trying to gain the advantage. Damaia snarls savagely as she finally pins the man down, ripped off his helmet. 

“You started this fight,” she barks, “we were passing through, and you chose to attack us. Why?” 

“It is a templar’s duty to hunt down apostates, our scout noticed the elf girl casting. Duty dema-”

“Nothing! Your circles no longer dictate the lives of Magi, your duty demands nothing. Means nothing.” Damaia was infuriated by the man’s calm demeanor. She had been hunted down before, almost caught dozens of times, if it weren’t for her family and the Frostblades she would have submitted years ago. 

“Duty is not determined by those unwilling to submit to it.” Carmel eyes meet her gaze with steely determination. This man would die rather that release himself of duty. She breaks free of their hold to glance upwards, the rest of her company silently dispatching the fallen and gathering up their gear. 

“Your fellows have all fallen, either dead or too incapacitated to fight. I should slay you now.” Her voice heavy with the implication. “That would be my duty.”

“Then do it.” He does not resist, and for some reasons that riles Demaia to further fury.

“No!” She snarls behind gritted teeth. Lifting herself slowly from the man, ensuring she made no sudden movement. She gets to her feet, fingers twitching to settle her wrappings back into place lest they reveal more than they already did during the fight. “I will not be what you want me to be. I refuse to just be another savage Tal-Vashoth. I am more….”

Her voice drifts off, as she extends her hand. The templar takes it without hesitation. She helps lift him to his feet, both keeping wary eyes on the other. The rest of the Frostblades had started to gather around the two. Vashta stepping forward to rest his arm on Damaia’s shoulder. 

“Another stray Demona? And a templar this time, you must be losing your touch.” He chuckles, charcoal eyes trained expertly on the human male. 

“What does he mean, stray? And why does he name you Demon?” Hand twitches towards his belt, as if to grab a sword that no longer rests there. 

“I have a habit of saving those I should be killing, though if I didn’t, then Vashta here would have died along with the rest of his Tal-Vashoth buddies. And the girl you were so eager to kill would have been…. harmed, by the group of templars who had her cornered a year ago.” Damaia spared a glance for Clarrisse, smiling at her gently. Then looked back, “As for me nickname, the team here figured it was appropriate to nickname me Demona, considering the whole red as blood face paint and snarly faces I make.”

“Not to mention that time yo-”, Damaia cut off Trevoir with a glare, the elven bowman smirking while leaning against his longbow. 

“You can call me Damaia,” she states plainly, straightening out the cloth wrapped around her chest so it settled back in place. It had a tendency to shift during battle, which both helped by distracting most opponents with inappropriate flashes of skin, and annoyed Damaia to no end by catching on every little piece of armor she happened to rub up against. Tumbling on the ground with the brunette templar certainly hadn’t helped.

“Leon.” He held his hand out as he introduced himself, the skin of the palm rough with callouses; honey colored eyes trained on Damaia’s face. Damaia’s mouth turned up slightly, and she took the hand in her own. Gripping tightly enough to warrant complaint from most others. But Leon kept his face straight. 

“Pleasure to meet you, Leon. Welcome to the crew, for however long you intend to stay.” The others surrounding them pounced on the young man at once, rowdily introducing themselves with the rigor only shown amongst comrades. Leon suddenly lost, bewildered, amongst the sea of bodies.

It is evening by the time camp is set up, all fourteen of their company settled by the fire. The Frostblades have determined Leon to be no further threat and have offered to let him travel with them for as long as he wishes. The brunette accepted on the caveat that, should they encounter any other templars, he be allowed to return with them. Damaia watched their newest recruit with sharp eyes. She had no doubts that he knew what his situation was, surrounded by those he had failed to kill, his previous comrades’ dead. She knew that all it would take for him to turn on them, was for another group of templars to come along, and offer him a way back to the life he was used to. For a pinch of lyrium dust. She turned her eyes up to the sky, calculating the time based on the moon. It was almost time. 

She excused herself from the others, none of the Frostblades questioned it. Knowing her intent already. Leon alone trailed her movement with his eyes. 

Damaia returned to the field of the battle. Eyes lingering on the lost lives. She begins to whisper a Nevarran hymn to the dead, moving amongst the field to close the eyes of each fallen templar, and to place a coin upon each eye. A mist rises, ebbing like a tide, and begins to gently glow, the deep purple shimmering in the moonlight.

“What are you doing?!” Leon shouts, racing into the field, hand clenched around the pommel of his blade. 

“Quiet,” Damaia murmurs. Focus still on her actions. “You will disturb them.”

She continues walking among the dead, echoing whispers following her. Leon casts his gaze about, uncertainty rife in his body language. 

“I am freeing them, helping to guide them, thanking them for their sacrifice. For they did lose their lives in the line of duty, as you stated.” She steps back from the last of the bodies, and raises her closed fists to the sky. The purple glow begins to pulsate, growing brighter and hazier all at once. The edges of the mist begin to fluctuate, swirling faster and faster, pulled into a maelstrom with Damaia at the center. As she opens her hands, palms upwards, the energy shoots straight up into the night sky, dissipating among the glittering stars. 

Slowly, she lowers her hands and opens her eyes. Leaning her chin ever so slightly onto the blade now pressing it’s tip into her neck. 

“You claimed I was maleficarum, Templar. I am not.” Damaia’s striking blue gaze remains gentle, despite the sword point nicking her skin. “I am a necromancer, taught the secrets of the dead by my mentor, Vincento. Whom would not appreciate your poor manners, by the way.” 

Leon slowly lowers the blade, looking slightly chagrined. “I have never seen such magic before….”

“Which is why I do not blame you for your reaction. You were taught that any magic you do not recognize, that is not performed within the walls of your circles, can lead to abominations and death. And while chantry training is definitely nothing to scoff at, it is so limited….” She sighs,“ I grew up an apostate.” Damaia raises up her hand, summoning a lick of flame to dance among her fingertips. “My options were to hide and learn magic without your safety nets; or to let myself be enslaved by the Qun or your circles. After all, a gilded cage is still a cage.”

She moves away from the bloodied field, leading Leon behind her. Then motions for them to sit among the grass. Though haltingly, the young man follows her example. Setting his blade between them. 

“I do not know if I have ever seen a Qunari mage that wasn’t chained. Though, obviously I haven’t seen many Qunari at all,” Leon flits his gaze up to Damaia’s face, tracing the lines of her charcoal skin. She smirks and giggles. 

“No, I doubt such a sight is common in this section of the world. As a matter of fact, the only reason I am out here if for a job. We accepted a mission to escort a group of circle mages to the Conclave your chantry is holding.”

“Such a job is for templars, not mercenaries.” Leon interjects firmly, bristling slightly at the implication.

“It was, until both mages and templars decided their walls would look better decorated with the other’s blood,” Damaia chuckled gently. She wasn’t trying to get a rise out of Leon, so it was better to go about these topics slowly. Especially since she could tell that the man was still edgy around her. She reached out to touch his hand. “And perhaps, it could be a job for templars again, should you decide to stay beside us. Once we gather the mages, we head out to Haven. Well…”

She glances quickly to the side. Face falling slightly. “Some of us will head to Haven. It has already been decided that those of us with certain abilities should stay out of sight. Tensions are a bit too high for my taste. Never was one for excitement.”

Her eyes glint in the moonlight, playful and bright. Leon breathes out a short laugh, blushing. 

“Says the woman who literally tackled a templar in full plate. ”

“What?!” She exclaims, protesting innocence,“ It was that or continue trying to bash you with my staff. And I have already been told that if I break another one I will have to find a way to make the next one myself. And trust me, from past experience, that never goes well…. sparks flying, things lighting on fire that aren’t supposed to be on fire, lightning bolts made of ice.”

Leon smiled wide,“ Would it surprise you if I had seen that last one happen before? A new initiate at the last circle I was at had this thing about talking with her hands, and any time she got excited ice would fling from her fingers. The first time it happened, all the templars on duty immediately jumped to attention. It wasn’t until the First Enchanter came out to vouch for the girl that everything calmed down.”

“That is both surprising and impressive, I wonder if the girl is available for service. Can always use a few more ice mages around. For a band called Frostblades, we only have one mage who actually excels at ice magic, and it certainly isn’t me. Too much fire and static in my blood for it. Requires a patience that I simply don’t have.”

“I have no room to disapprove if she chooses to join I suppose, not with the world turning out the way that it is. Though, I think that the habit was eventually trained out of her,” his gaze drifts away from Damaia, hazing slightly as the smallest smile graces his lips. “I remember thinking it was funny, that this small girl with the brightest red hair, like fire, would be drawn to ice magic.”

Damaia leaned down, trying to catch Leon’s eye, a knowing expression forming on her face,“ What was her name?”

“Mesara.”


	2. The Ice Under My Skin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introducing Mesara Trevelyan, Enchanter of the Ostwick Circle of Magi, of House Trevelyan. The mages find themselves holed up in Highever, by leave of Teryn Fergus Cousland, awaiting the mercenary troops who will escort them to the Conclave in Haven.

“They are late.” Irritation creeping into an otherwise silken tone. She hated untimeliness. Sighing, manicured hands smoothed over her wool gown, and then lift a silver brush to short, crimson locks. Emerald green eyes flicked to the others in the group. “Do we intend to continue waiting for them here? After all, we are already at least a fortnight behind the others. And if we are to make it in time for the Conclave, we shouldn’t dally.”

“Enchanter, we can’t possibly travel all the way from Highever to Haven without a guard. Senior Enchanter Lillith said that we were to take every precaution…. You have heard what the templars have started to do to mages without escorts.” Carintha spoke, timid still despite her years. Two of the others stood close to her, clinging almost as if to a mother’s skirts. 

“I will not have us waylaid simply because a mercenary band cannot keep to the set schedule. If nothing else, we can leave them with a message to meet us in the fields. I am sure that Lord Cousland would be willing to spare a few of his men in these desperate times.” She turned in her seat to gaze the others full in the face. Pouting lips pressed into a tight line. It was not the first time that they had thought to question her orders. After all, technically she was still a junior member of the circle, only a few years out of apprenticeship, and having not yet risen to the ranks of Senior Enchanter. Just as Carintha opened her mouth to argue, a young elf scurried into the room, letter clutched in her hands. 

“Mistress Trevelyan, pardon me ma’am, but I was told to give this to you directly. They said that I wasn’t to give it to anyone else. Please pardon my intruding miss.” The elf thrust the letter forward. 

Sighing, Mesara gently took the letter. She excused the elf, and turned back to the vanity. As had become her habit, her green eyes flit up to catch her reflection. Studying the difference made by having cut off her previously full tresses. A soft sight catches at her lips, and she returns to the task at hand. Breaking the seal with a sharp crack, she unfolds the parchment. 

“What does it say,” Carintha leans over Mesara’s shoulder, trying to peer at the script. 

“That the Frostblades send their apologies. It would seem that they had a run in with a group of stray templars. According to the note, they should be arriving this evening, sometime around supper, and then we may leave at our leisure.” Mesara passes the note to Carintha, who shares it with the four others. Dalen, a young elf boy, barely an apprentice. Tiane, who had just recently passed her Harrowing. Benton, a man made tranquil the year before last. Pietro, who had survived Kirkwall only to be dragged back to Ostwick. 

Amongst their group, it should have been Carintha, who had been an instructor before the Circles chose to disband, to take the lead. And yet, time and again, it had fallen to Mesara to make the decisions. Apparently the most experienced in the intricacies of quietly leading others, she took her unofficial charge quite seriously. The Senior Enchanters, at least, those who had remained loyal, had tasked the group with attending the Conclave; staying behind only long enough to ensure the safety of their youngest charges before making the journey. The mages had been informed that contact had already been made with a group of mercenaries to ensure their protection in Fereldan. According to rumors, the group was well prepared to deal with any Templars that might hamper their trek, though no further information could be found as to why. The only information that Mesara could glean beyond that, was that anyone who took a contract with them, was also bound to keep quiet the specifics of how those contracts were fulfilled. 

While odd, it hadn’t seemed of enough importance for her to press for further information. As she was certain any doubts would be quelled upon their meeting. A meeting the mercenary band was now late for. 

Huffing, Mesara turned back to the mirror and lifts her charcoal stick, leaning forward to line her eyes. If she was expected to greet these mercenaries, she would leave no doubt that she was a woman of power, not some girl who would simper and follow their lead. Setting the stick down as her work finished, she peppered her lips with rogue. Then turned to face her fellow mages. “Well, we do not have time to dally about. Please, prepare your traveling gear, and then change into your best robes. We shan’t meet these thugs looking as though we haven’t had time to wash the dust from our skin. Go!”

Once the others are safely out of sight, Mesara releases the tension that had so rigidly held her spine. She often found it exhausting to keep up such appearances, but she would give nothing less than her best face until they were safely at the Conclave. And even then, there would no doubt be need of her political skills. Mesara knew that it was more than her family’s name that had allowed her many comforts. 

She had developed a passing skill in the Game before she had ever manifested her magic. And grateful as she would always remain for the modicum of freedoms she had earned as a mage, she would always be Trevelyan first. A fact that her family made certain to impress upon her at every passing chance. Going so far as to have her circle robes embroidered with their family crest as soon as she had passed her Harrowing. As if she hadn't received enough grief from her fellows for bearing such a high name; despite it meaning nearly nothing within the Circle. Where standing was created by force of will as much as formal training. 

Silently, she shook the thoughts free from her mind. Their company would soon arrive, and it would be unworthy not to inform the Teryn of their coming. She stood, and reorganized her make up into the little music box she had been given by her mother for such things. Straightening her robes, she ensured that no wrinkle or speck of dust would give the impression that she was not perfectly preened at all times. 

Mesara rang the bell to summon back the servant from before, “please inform the Teryn that I request audience. And do be quick about it dear one.”

Mesara allowed a count of one hundred after the elf had dashed off with the message, then began to glide her way through the outer halls. She would never quite understand why the estate had chosen to include outer walkways rather than roof the whole of the building, as was the custom in Ostwick, especially with Fereldan’s poor weather. She had used her cloak more often since landing on Highever's docks than she had ever before, and still it did not entirely keep out the chill. With that thought she realized that she had quickened her steps, and forced herself to slow once more, body and mind.

After a few minutes, Mesara had managed her way to Teryn Fergus' study, and allowed for his serving man to introduce her. 

“Please, Lady Mesara, you need not stand on formality, I beg you.” The Teryn’s warm eyes crinkled around the edges as he smiled up at her. Mesara dipped into a small curtsey, then returned the smile with one slightly cooler. 

“Teryn, I would not wish to show disregard to your station, nor to the warm hospitality that myself and my companions have found within your home. It would be a disservice to both you and myself.” She dips her head once more, hand placed just above her heart to display her sincerity. “Though I do fear that we must beg further indulgence. It would seem that the mercenaries hired to be our guard have run into some small delay. According to their most recent correspondence, we do expect them before the day is done. I do hope that this will not cause you any undue stress. Had we further notice, I would have given you more time, unfortunately, such is often the way with these types of men.”

Fergus sighs softly and shakes his head. Then glances back at the poised mage. “Of course, you are more than welcome to stay as long as you need, as I have stated several times if you might recall. Honestly, I am quite glad for your company.” He motions for her to take the seat opposite his own. 

“It is quite my pleasure to give it, good ser.”

“As for the mercenaries, it does not surprise me in the least that they ran into trouble, between the Mage and Templar infighting, and bandits and such. The roads were never the safest here in Fereldan, though Queen Anora has done her best in the past decade to try and clean things up. Between the civil war and the Blight, I am surprised that the entire country had not fallen to pieces. I suppose there is something to be said about her particular style of rule. Whatever they might say about her being a figurehead for the Hero of Fereldan; which, if I might say, is highly unlikely given what I know of both women,” he smirks slightly. Then reaches for one of the many papers scattered about his desk. Jotting down his signature without giving the parchment so much as a second glance. “I shall arrange for a proper supper then, that we might greet your protectors. I do hope that, if they are found wanting, you would not object to my accompanying you, along with a number of my men. After all, it wouldn’t behoove my station if I allowed a lady such as yourself to go on without proper protection.”

Mesara smiles gently, she did quite enjoy the Teryn’s attention, and had she not manifested, he would have been exactly the type of man she would have hoped to catch the eye of. In large part because of, rather than in spite of, the affection he still so obviously shared for his late wife and child. He had shared some small portion of the story, of a betrayal at the hands of a man whom his family had wrongly trusted. The loss of sister, father, mother, wife, and son; all while he had been attending to his duty within the late King’s army. The story had left Mesara quite distraught at the time, something that Fergus had rectified as quickly as he could. Ensuring her that he had not meant to have her so affected by the story, and had simply been glad to had someone to speak of it with. The evening had left her with quite a soft spot in her armored heart for the gentleman.

"It is your station that would not allow you to accompany me, good ser, for you have duties to many beyond that of a small group of mages. But perhaps-" She pauses, and worries at her bottom lip but for a moment," you might be willing instead to write, if you were to find occasion."

She watches the emotions chase across his face. Determining whether she has crossed some finite line. 

"I do believe I would enjoy that very much, Lady Mesara." His warm voice settles what nerves she might have had. She flashes him a genuine smile, then moves to excuse herself. 

"I do believe I must go warn your chef of the unexpected arrivals, especially if she is expected to prepare a meal such as you have in mind. I would be of a mind to warn you to not have her prepare anything she could not make en masse, had I not known that you spent more than enough time in the company of fellow soldiers well enough to know as such. However, I must beg my leave, if I am to be ready to depart when the Frostblades arrive."

Fergus rises from his seat and bows to her, "Until next we speak, my lady."

"Until then, Teryn Cousland."

Mesara felt lighter after leaving the company of Teryn Fergus. She smiled softly to herself, it would be pleasant to continue their association, even if just through letters. She would be certain to set time aside during her time at the Conclave. She quickly made her way to the dining hall, it would almost be time for supper and she wanted to ensure that the cooks would be ready for the extra guests, it would not do for them to be caught unawares.

Knocking firmly upon the kitchen door, she knew better than to enter any chef's domain without permission, a lesson learned under duress in her youth, she waiting to be called in before pressing forward. Weaving her way through the quick moving servants and cooks, doing her best to keep from disturbing them too much, she found her way to the wiry woman who was master of this place. 

"I do apologize for the short notice, Mistress, but I wished to inform you that there is a company of mercenaries on their way to the hold. They should number around ten, but I would expect that the company is no more than twenty in total. We are expecting them to arrive around supper."

The grey-haired chef muttered under her breath irritably, using several words that Mesara was sure she was not supposed to have heard, and therefore acted as though she did not. "Of course, they are, I've never known a warrior who would miss the chance for a free meal. Bad enough that we have to support you lot while you are here, I suppose adding in a war party shouldn't be difficult enough, as it were. I'll make sure that everyone leaves with their bellies full."

"I do thank you, Mistress, I know that we would be lost indeed without your foresight and abilities." Mesara bows her head deeply. "I will do my best to ensure that the company is not too rowdy, if you would excuse me, I do have my own preparations to make."

Mesara turns after waiting a beat and makes her way back to her quarters. She had packing to do before meeting with the mercenary band. She also wanted to change into her second-best dress, it wouldn't do for them to take her less seriously due to the mages robes given by the circle, and she certainly wasn't going to waste her best dress on a group of glorified thugs.  _The_ _Frostblades_ , she muses,  _what sort of name was that?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Point of view will be switching with each chapter, I will start marking each chapter as we go along so as not to confuse anyone.  
> Feel free to follow me on Tumblr, @marquis1305  
> I love talking to people and reading responses, so feel free to reach out!
> 
> Any mistakes made are mine!


	3. The Lightening I Keep Near

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uncertainties come to light as the Frostblades reach their destination. And everyone loves a good reunion.

"I swear to the Qun or Andraste or Fen'Harel... Whatever it is that you worship, please. SHUT. UP." Damaia growls. "None of us bloody care if a sword and shield is better than a two hander; except the two of you. The better one is whichever you can bloody use to keep you from getting split in two. For some that is a shield to cower behind, for others it is a sword big enough to compensate for not needing your second hand otherwise, and for those of us with superior abilities, it's a staff that can literally shock you into having some common sense. Now stop tempting me to use mine!"

Leon and Vashta both shut their jaws with a clink. Staring wide eyed at the Qunari mage, who just snarled at them. Three days of travel, with nothing but their continued banter on numerous subjects. Normally Damaia would play along, and even enjoy, the familiarity that was growing between the Templar and her crew. But as of right now, she honestly just wanted everyone to shut it. They had had to double time it to make the meet even close to the promised time, and even then were a day late due to the run in with Leon's former companions. She knew all too well how prissy the Circle mage types could be, what with their pampered life in a gilded cage. Damaia had no interest in the lecture that they were certain to endure upon their arrival to Highever. 

Talon falls into step beside the Qunari mage, the elder human staying silent for several beats while waiting for Damaia to acknowledge him.

"Yes, Talon?"

"You gonna talk about what has you so on edge, Demona?" 

Damaia huffs. Then looks down at Talon, his salt and pepper hair glinting slightly in the sunlight.  "I really don't want to."

"But you should."

"We are walking into a war," Damaia keeps her deep voice low, it wouldn't do for the others to hear this. "We are taking a group of mages, and mages loyal to the circles no less, through a country being torn apart by mages and templars alike. We were lucky that the last templar group was caught unaware. But if we get caught again.... And not only that..."

Talon nods slightly, knowing where she was leading. "You and Clarrisse."

"What if they try to turn us in? I know that once they signed the contract they swore not to expose us? But who is to know whether these mages will keep their word? What happens if we get to this Conclave thing and their precious Divine says that all mages should be locked back up? Clarrisse they can convert, she's a healing mage, barely has enough elemental talents to light a spark, but strong enough that they won't Tranquil her. Me?"

She shoots a glance back at Leon. He was smiling and laughing at something that Kurt had said. Ruffling the blonde's choppy hair. 

"You know how he reacted to my magic, and he isn't even that bad of a guy." Damaia shifts her gaze back to Talon. The man had been her commander for years, until he had decided he was tired of leading men to their death. He, of any of them, except maybe Vashta, would understand her hesitancy. "I don't want to needlessly lead us into danger, we already skirt the edges. Having me and Clarrisse around. But we are careful, and mercenaries code usually protects us. I don't know for how much longer." 

"Times change Demon girl. They started changing when Fereldan gained back their freedom from the stuffies. And it seems like it isn't going to stop changing any time soon. We fulfill our contracts, we watch each other's backs. If it looks like too much danger, stay back from the building, the rest of us know what it takes to get the job done just as well, and we can't very well lose our captain, or the heals. Keep a sharp eye and a sharper mind. No different than any other day, Damaia."

She nodded slowly, her blue gaze dropping to face the road ahead. They still had several miles to go before reaching Highever, and she needed to have her head on straight before they got there to greet their contact. 

"Thanks Talon. Seems like wisdom is not so easily lost as the position."

"Never said it was."

Chuckling, she holds her head high again. "Come on boys! We have miles to go before we sleep. And if we pick up the pace, we might make it before chow time!"

The band raised a cheer behind her, Vashta smiling with an eyebrow raised. Damaia shook her head slightly. He would need to wait to ask his questions. She flashed a quick hand signal,  _Not in front of the crew._  

Nodding, the warrior turned back to the argument that was picking up between Trevior and Reen, the elf and dwarf each claiming that they could outdrink the other. Vashta overruled both of them in claiming that neither could stand Maaras-Lok. Clarrisse was talking with Leon in quite tones, the tips of her pointed ears quite red. Kurt, Juliana, Paka, and Nikier were all playing with a set of travel dice, betting away chores; while Vierran and Harold lead the pack mules that carried their gear. Xavier was running about the area, scouting to his heart's desire. Damaia smiled, proudly, these were her people; she would not fail them. 

The mercenaries were able to make the rest of the trek without any further delays. By the time that night had begun to fall, the Frostblades found themselves at the gate to the Teryn of Highever's estate. Damaia signaled to the crew to keep quiet, then waited for them to be noticed. Unfortunately, there was no knocker on the gate's door, or she would have used it to amuse herself. After but a few moments, time enough for a runner to be sent, the seal to the peephole was moved aside. 

"Are you expected, ser?" Came a light voice, almond eyes peeking from behind the slot. 

"We are the crew hired to escort the mages of Ostwick Circle to the Conclave, I would certainly hope that they were expecting us." Damaia keeps her voice light, and chuckles slightly. "I was told that my contact would be a-"

She pauses, blanking on the name. "Vashta! What was the contact again?" She hollars over her shoulder. 

"I think it was Corinthia, or Carri, or something like that!" His deep voice rumbles with barely withheld laughter. 

"Enchanter Carintha." Talon says in his barely audible huff. 

"Right! That one! Would you let her know we have arrived? And that we would greatly appreciate being let inside at some point?" Damaia grins widely.

The voice lets out a squeak, and then jolts off from behind the door. Leaving the band to wait for entry. 

"So, Leon, do I need to remind you to be on your best behavior? Or have we moved past attacking unknown mages on sight?" Her tone teases, but blue eyes remain hard and mirthless above her smile. She can see the response it stirs from Leon, the guilty flash of emotion scatter across his face. "Just want to make certain before we introduce you to a bunch of skirts with sticks."

"I think if I can manage to deal with you flinging sparks at me every chance you get, I can manage a few Loyals who might know better." Damaia knows that the ease of his voice hides the clench of his fist. 

"Good, because I want you to be my frontman on this. Contacts usually don't enjoy working with the hornier members of our troup, if you catch my drift." Laughter scatters about the crew just as the doors open, revealing none other than a man whom Damaia had to assume was Teryn Cousland himself. 

There was a beat of quiet.

Another.

And then laughter. 

Damaia burst out laughing, long and hard. Eyes tearing up from the effort. Her crew stood dumbfounded until the Teryn started to chuckle himself. After a few moments of open mouthed stares and hearty laughing, Damaia calmed herself down enough to bow deep to the Teryn. 

"My deepest apologies serah. Had I known you were so near I would have tempered my tongue, so much as one can expect me to do so."

"No need madam, I have spent my own fair share of time among the armed forces, I took no offense beyond the initial shock. Please, allow me to introduce myself. Teryn Fergus Cousland, at your service."

"Damaia Adaar, at yours." Damaia dropped a wink with the statement, then turned to introduce the others, but paused. Turning back towards Fergus," You aren't our contact, perhaps I should wait to introduce everyone until we meet with them. That way I can avoid repetition."

"Of course, we have had supper prepared, please allow me to escort you to the dining hall."

"It would be your pleasure, serah."

"Indeed, it would madam."

Damaia strides beside Fergus, the others falling into columns behind them. All but Leon knew their place in the order. Always strategically placed to avoid being caught by surprise or ambush. 

She was impressed with his ability to keep at a soldier's steady pace. 

It took no time at all for them to reach the main dining hall, as it was near to the main gate. Fergus showed them all inside, and Damaia noted that they were the last to arrive. A group of four mages, and a woman whom she assumed was the mistress of the house, if her gown was anything to go by. She bowed deeply, holding it for several moments before stepping up to the table, glad to see that Leon had followed her example and was now standing by her. 

The red head stood, entire body held into a regal stance, and the mages attempted to follow her example. Damaia noticed that none seemed to have the young woman's stature and natural air of command. She waited silently for Leon to make the introductions, as she had instructed him. But after several moments of almost awkward silence, she turned to seem him staring, slack-jawed, at the lady.

She snapped her fingers to try catching his attention, then shot her gaze towards the woman in question. Who was smiling widely and moving towards the templar. 

"Leon?" Her voice was high, melodious. Something that went beyond years of training towards the dialect that Orlesians tried to perfect, and almost into pure music. "Is that truly you? Dear Maker, it has been so long!"

"Mesara! It is- I mean. I. Adraste's tits I can't believe it's you!"

"Well, that explains it then," Damaia smirks to the others and motions for them to take their seats. "Come on kids, seems like these two might need a moment."

She caught the way that their host eyed Leon with interest; assuming that there was another story there. 

"Well, allow me to make introductions then,"Damaia rumbles with amusement. "I am Damaia Adaar, captain of this particular crew for the Frostblades. Vashta, the other large one, is my second and kin. Talon is the grizzled one who is staring like he might bite someone's head off, don't worry, he hasn't.... yet." She turns to point to each of her little family in turn. "Clarrisse, the small blonde elf is our company healer. Trevior is the brunette elf with a finger itch. Reen is our own personal Casteless dwarf, don't let him try drinking with you, man can hold his ale. Kurt and Juliana are the twins, here. This is Vierran, our Quartermaster. The Antivan with the chunk missing out of her ear is Paka; and Nikier is her Orlesian husband, no accounting for taste, sorry Paka. Our Riviani friend is Harold, who is in charge of procuring and keeping mounts, since I assume none of you is fond of walking. And Xavier is the young man who is now trying to slip out of the door with a plate. Xavier, be civilized, sit, now."

Damaia runs through each of the introductions, keeping an eye on the reactions of the mages. Nothing too bad so far, they all seemed a little taken aback by the mixed company, but Damaia assumed it was their first time running with mercs. 

"And whenever he chooses to join us, our other friend can go ahead and introduce himself. Since I took over the rest on his behalf. Now.... what are we eating?"


	4. These Wars I Cannot Win

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A reunion brings together old friends and new worries.

Shocked, Mesara could not manage the breath necessary to greet their guests. She had noticed among their number, a face that she had not seen in years. Not since he was transferred to a different circle. 

_Leon_.

Her heart beats quicker. Memories of shy smiles, innocent touches, soft words; all of them fly through her mind in the moments it takes to regain her composure. 

Smiling, her green eyes bright, she moves away from the table and towards the young templar. Ignoring what is being said by the strange Qunari woman. 

"Leon?" Mesara's voice raises with her emotions. Elated at seeing him again after so much time.  "Is that truly you? Dear Maker, it has been so long!"

She laughs shyly, stopping just a few steps in front of him. Everything has fallen away around her. Vision tunneling to just this one man.

"Mesara! It is- I mean. I. Adraste's tits I can't believe it's you!"

He sweeps her into his arms, forgoing all decorum, she returns the gesture. Arms wrapping around his neck, pressing her cheek to his, despite the height difference of almost half a foot. Which Leon makes up for by lifting Mesara from her feet. 

"My dearest friend, how I missed you." She whispers gently. Eyes shut tight. As though if she opened them, she might find him gone once more. 

"You know how much it killed me to go, but I couldn't disobey direct orders. I appealed the transfer as often as was allowed." Leon's voice thickened with grief. He grabbed tightly at Mesara, pulling her closer still, then ran a hand over her short hair. "What happened? You used to keep it so long."

He pulls back to look Mesara in the eyes, her own drop down, blush coloring an otherwise pale face. 

"I had.... an incident. This was the only way to salvage what was left," her voice is soft enough that it barely carries. And Leon chuckles. Then lifts his head as he catches Damaia's pointed comment on introductions.

Tan cheeks darkening, he lets Mesara down slowly. Salvaging what he could of the incident, he walks forward to introduce himself to the mages. 

"My apologies, good sers and ladies; I am Leon Du'Morte, a templar of Kinloch Hold, and formerly a templar of the Ostwick circle. Of the Illustrious Du'Morte family of Ostwick. And now an associate of the Frostblades," Leon makes a short formal bow. 

Mesara had taken the brief respite to smooth out her gown; stepping up beside Leon as she does so. 

"I apologize for my rash behavior. Leon and I had been acquianted previously while in Ostwick, and I was surprised to see him so suddenly, after many years of estrangement. I do so hope that you will pardon my rudeness, as it would seem I have missed the introductions." Mesara inclines her head ever so slightly. Then takes in each of the mercenaries before her. She could tell that the two Qunari, and the oldest among the humans were the ones in charge, as the others would glance to them for direction on occasion. 

"I am Lady Mesara Trevelyan, Loyal Enchanter of the Ostwick Circle. And my companions are Enchanter Carintha, Enchanter Pietro, Enchanter Tiene, Apprentice Dalen, and Tranquil Benton. " Each of the mages bowed their head in turn, and Mesara listed them off in order of standing. "I will ensure to properly introduce myself to each of you when time allows. For now, we seem to be delaying supper, and I am certain that it will be better than the rations from your journey. If we may, Lord Fergus?" She raises her open palm to the Teryn, requesting his permission.

"Yes, of course. Come friends, let us all be seated. Rest your weary feet and see what wonders my Nan has managed to cook up for us today." Teryn Cousland smiles warmly at all of his guests, seemingly glad to be focusing on the meal.

Mesara moves to take her seat once more, excusing herself from Leon with a soft smile. She flashes another smile to their host; and allows for one of the servants to fill her glass with a sweet wine. Lifting the glass slightly, she raises it towards the mercenary band. "I propose a toast, to our new friends and companions. We thank you for taking a chance in accepting our contract. In these turbulent times, it is good to have such a competent company to entrust with our protection."

The mages lift their voices. "To the Frostblades!"

Mesara takes a sip from her glass. Then stands, raising the glass once more, this time in the direction of their host. 

Her voice is light, warm. "And a toast to our dear host, who has been more than kind to us during our time here. Teryn Cousland, you have done more for myself and my friends than we could have ever imagined when we requested asylum. You have welcomed us into your home, despite the dangers apparent when associating with mages, Loyalist or apostate, and treated us with every kindness and warmth. We owe you much, good ser, and can only repay it with our friendship."

She dips her head, raising the wine glass to her lips once more. Green eyes bright and warm as they catch the gaze of the Teryn. Those at the table raise their glasses once more, voices roaring, "To Teryn Cousland, may his life be long and full!"

"I am happy to accept your friendship, my dear, and would be glad to give it in return. To all at my table. May your journey be without trouble, and may you arrive safely at the Conclave." He lifts his cup in return, letting his gaze drop to each of the guests at his table, lingering only a moment too long on Mesara. 

Lowering herself to her seat once more, Mesara listens quietly to the chatter that begins to pick up around her. The Frostblades seem a merry bunch, boisterous. There is no hesitation in including her companions in their conversation, telling stories of their exploits, or asking questions about life in the circle. Mesara notices that the small blonde elf keeps mostly to herself, eyes focused down on the food as it is presented to her. Then takes note of the Qunari male's attention to her, watching the way his eyes would flick in her direction, or he would answer a question directed towards there in a way that would draw attention away.  _How unusual._  

Filing away the information, Mesara turns her attention over to the captain. The woman seemed the living definition of excess. An excess of emotion, an excess of words. The list continued on. She was large, muscled, as one might expect from a warrior of her supposed caliber. 

Turning away from the mercenaries, she focused once more on the Teryn. 

"Teryn Fergus," she inquires softly, leaning over to be heard more clearly. "I was curious, how much do you know about this particular company? I do believe that I had forgotten to ask earlier; and seeing them now has quite piqued my curiosity."

"They are known for being one of the more silent groups. Often based in between Orlais and Fereldan, from what I know they are very loyal, I've never heard of them breaking a contract. In fact, from what I have heard, they often go above and beyond the call of duty within their contracts. Staying on longer than agreed, ensuring that casualties are a minimum, stabilizing what they can in villages they stay around. I've also heard that their contracts include a non-disclosure clause. So, no one who hires them is allowed to discuss the actions of the group directly. Though there are whispers as to why."

"Really? Pray tell!"

"It's been said, by survivors or by witnesses, that they use unorthodox methods. Specifically, that they hire on apostates.  From what I know of mercenary groups, it's not completely unheard of, but something about this group has warranted the need to keep it even more undercover, therefore the need for nondisclosure for any of their contacts. However, as you have hired them, I am certain that you would be welcome to ask. They do not seem the type to lie under contract."

Mesara searches the Teryn's face for any hint of teasing, and then smiles gently. She nods once and turns back in her seat. "Thank you for indulging my curiosity, though I am afraid that I find it no more sated than the beginning of our conversation dear Teryn."

"I apologize for not having more information. I would offer to search more into the matter, but I fear that it might be too late, as you intend to leave tomorrow.... that is, if you still intend to leave tomorrow?"

"Yes, I do fear that we are too late as it were. Our fellows must have already arrived at the Conclave, so we cannot delay any further. Though it will not be a happy parting by any means. I did mean it, I will miss your company." Her green eyes remain warm, soft, as she gazes at the Teryn. And he returns her smile, bowing his head. 

"Far be it from me to keep you from your duty. Please, enjoy your remaining time here with no thoughts of unhappy partings, I have yet had enough of those in my life." His words are rough with everything that goes unsaid. Mesara frowns, but understands. 

"So long as I retain your friendship, so long as we write, I would not call that unhappy, despite parting company.  I loathe to lose such a new friendship. Especially one so promising such as this." She presses her fingertips to his hand, and his gaze shoots up to search her own. "You have made a troubling time bearable. Thank you."

Fergus nods slightly. His face looking suddenly younger, softer. Mesara can feel her skin prickling, and she quickly looks towards Leon. Catching his questioning, pained gaze. Her eyes drop. A red tinge to her otherwise pale cheeks. "I do believe I am suddenly not feeling quite well. If you all would excuse me?"

Mesara steps away calmly from the banquet table, making it only to the door to the hall before she bolts. Nearly running for her room. Her heart pounding in her chest. Once she finally makes it, she slips in as quickly as she can, locking the door behind her. Pressing her forehead to the cool wood. Her hand pressed to her chest. 

"But why?" She hisses under her breath, eyes blown wide. She takes a few steadying breaths. Stepping away from the door. Mesara turns towards the water basin next to her vanity. She dips her washing cloth into the cool liquid, and dabs it at her brow and chest, trying to calm herself. It was unlike her to lose control like this, Mesara did not enjoy the feeling. She took a deep breath. 

Releasing it, she looks over at the mirror. Frowning she goes over to fix her kohled eyes and rearrange her hair. Nodding as soon as she adds a few finishing touches. It would have to do. Gliding over to the door, she unlocks it, pulling it open.

To see a grey fist raised just at eye level.

Mesara blinks, then lifts her gaze to the owner of the fist. "If you would kindly move your hand, I would very much appreciate it."

The hand drops hurriedly, then raises to rub at a muscled neck. "Sorry about that, ma'am. Was just about to knock."

The Qunari Captian's voice is deep and rough, as though she had spent her entire childhood screaming, and the ragged edge stayed with her. Mesara smiles slightly. "There is no need to apologize, I would have appreciated the gesture had you managed to complete the action. Now, if I might ask, why were you about to knock on my door?"

"Just wanted to check on you Boss, you ran off in a bit of a hurry. Don't worry, I don't think anyone but me and Vashta noticed. Most of the others accepted that you weren't feeling well. Whispered a few worried statements and then went on eating that excellent quiche the cook whipped up for an appetizer. Can't wait to see what she manages for the next round." Deep blue eyes flicker back and forth over her face. "But, if you aren't feeling well enough to manage making it back, perhaps I should just bring a plate back to you.... Or you can let me know why one puppy-eyed look from the Templar kid made you bolt like a rabbit before a fennec?"

"I... "Mesara pauses to gather herself. Then lifts her chin to strike a proud figure. "I've no idea what you mean. I did notice Leon looking at me, but didn't think anything of it. Certainly nothing I would share with a woman I had just met." She raised her voice to haughty levels. 

"Now now, no need to fluff your feathers madam. Was just wondering if I was going to have to have words with him before we all started to the Conclave?"

"There is no need, if Leon wishes to speak with me regarding the subject, he is more than welcome to."

"Understood, now, I am sure you have a few questions? I was going to speak to the contact about it, but it took half a minute before realizing that you were the one in power here. And less than that to know that your group was going to need a good few moments to come to terms with the contract."

Mesara raised an eyebrow, then stepped aside to allowed Damaia into the room. "Very well, please, take a seat."


	5. Words I Will Not Hear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sparks may fly when Damaia and Mesara come to clash. But then again, who exactly expected things to go smoothly?

Damaia had been chatting with Pietro, the young man had a brilliant mind despite his skittish nature. And she had to admit that he was fairly attractive. They were exchanging discourse over the events of Kirkwall, and exactly how accurate a certain Messere Tethras' version of the events were. Throughout the conversation, she had kept an eye out on her men. 

Vathras was as protective as Clarrisse as ever, almost to the point of being rude when dismissing other's attempts at conversation with the poor girl. Talon was playing nice and entertaining the youngest of the mages. Trevior, Xavior, and Reen were all minding themselves, Damaia could tell none of them were comfortable with their surroundings. The twins were on either side of the Tranquil, asking about new enchantments for weapons. Vierran, Paka, Nikier, and Harold were answering questions from the mage Carintha, who was supposed to have been their contact, and Tiane, who kept looking as though she were going to interject a thought and held it back instead. 

Leon.... She had caught the name of the young woman, the same as the girl's name he has spoken so reverently when they had first met. A name that had passed his lips in a variety of tones (most with inflections of awe or care) while telling stories of his time in Ostwick's circle. Damaia had been slightly shocked by their sudden reunion, but it had seemed to be a good one. Now, however, Leon was staring at the girl's interaction with the Teryn, which seemed more familiar than one might assume of a mage and a noble. 

Damaia threw up a quick prayer to whatever god would listen that Leon would keep his mouth shut. 

The girl, Mesara, had caught Leon's gaze, and fled. However poised it was, Damaia knew a retreating figure when she saw one. 

"Please excuse me," Damaia muttered. Vashta caught her eye and nodded. Then, he too had noticed the behavior. 

Damaia swiftly left her seat at the table and followed closely behind the red-head. Not close enough as to alert her, but enough that she wouldn't lose her in this maze of an estate.  _Seriously, who lays out a home like this?_

When the girl rushes into a room, Damaia waits. Counts twice to one hundred. Then lifts her calloused hand to knock at the door. 

It opens before she has the chance to complete the motion. 

"If you would kindly move your hand, I would very much appreciate it," the voice might be high and melodious, but it carries a stern disposition. As if she was used to having her ever command followed. Damaia smiled at the irony. Then lifts her hand up to her neck to rub away the flush from embarrassment at being caught.

"Sorry about that, ma'am. Was just about to knock." Damaia keeps her voice low, unassuming. 

 "There is no need to apologize, I would have appreciated the gesture had you managed to complete the action. Now, if I might ask, why were you about to knock on my door?" Damaia watches a small smile cross the other woman's face, and considers how much more attractive she might be with a more genuine grin there instead. After all, full lips that like were made for two things: Laughing and kissing.

"Just wanted to check on you Boss, you ran off in a bit of a hurry. Don't worry, I don't think anyone but me and Vashta noticed. Most of the others accepted that you weren't feeling well. Whispered a few worried statements and then went on eating that excellent quiche the cook whipped up for an appetizer. Can't wait to see what she manages for the next round." Damaia lets her gaze flick over the other's face, trying to get a read on her. Wouldn't really do to upset this woman, who was so obviously in charge, despite their contact being different, right off the bat. Especially for someone who wasn't technically a full member of the crew. "But, if you aren't feeling well enough to manage making it back, perhaps I should just bring a plate back to you.... Or you can let me know why one puppy-eyed look from the Templar kid made you bolt like a rabbit before a fennec?"

Damaia catches the split-second hesitation. The catch in her voice, so soft that it almost hadn't happened. She had to admit that the girl was fairly good. Had very few tells, and most of those were misdirection, made to make her seem innocent. A good way to play off a pretty face. 

"I..." The woman gathers herself up, removing all sense of weakness. Green eyes hardening.  "I've no idea what you mean. I did notice Leon looking at me, but didn't think anything of it. Certainly nothing I would share with a woman I had just met." The way the inflection of her voice changes makes Damaia think of another. A woman she had only met in passing a handful of years ago. The infamous Madame De Fer. Obviously, this tone was as much practiced as her blank expression. Damaia found herself oddly impressed. 

"Now, now, no need to fluff your feathers madam. Was just wondering if I was going to have to have words with him before we all started to the Conclave?" Smiling, Damaia raised an eyebrow, accepting the challenge. 

"There is no need, if Leon wishes to speak with me regarding the subject, he is more than welcome to."

"Understood, now, I am sure you have a few questions? I was going to speak to the contact about it, but it took half a minute before realizing that you were the one in power here. And less than that to know that your group was going to need a good few moments to come to terms with the contract."

Damaia found herself being waved into the room. Mesara allowing her by with a few words of acceptance. This was certainly going to be interesting. Smirking, Damaia sits herself on the chair near a nearly unused desk, clear of the usual clutter. Then turns to face the other mage. Waiting. 

She catches the sly look that Mesara gives her, and raises an eyebrow in return.

"If I might, I have heard some rumors about your company."

"It doesn't surprise me. There are plenty of ways information could leak about the Frostblades. Witnesses, people we have saved, servants whose ears catch words that our contacts whisper. We do our best not to have people talk about us outright, but nothing in the world could stop every rumor." Damaia shrugs. A hazard of the trade. "Now, what rumor in particular caught your attention?"

Mesara pursed her lips, eyes roving over Damaia's face. "The ones about your methods. In particular, about apostates in your ranks. I will have you know that I do not approve of any apostate, as the Chantry has declared them crim-"

"Yes," Damaia interjects. "We use apostates. You would be hard-pressed to find any mercenary band who wasn't eager to have them among their number. Mages have multiple uses, from healing to crowd control, and even major damage if properly trained."

"I see, and yet you also welcome a templar into your rank. For Leon is still a Templar is he not?" The haughty voice makes a comeback. Damaia is beginning to feel like she won't walk away from this conversation without losing her temper. 

"I will accept whomever chooses to follow under me. Whatever their past. Leon almost lost his life to my company, to me specifically, and had he not yielded, he would have been slain. As was every other Templar that had accompanied him. Templar's who attacked us due to one of our mages performing a healing spell upon another." Voice rumbling deep in her chest, Damaia grits out the words. Sapphire eyes trained upon Mesara with a keen edge. 

"Then they were performing their duty, as the mage was obviously not within Circle guidance, and therefore an apostate." The woman across from her lifts her chin, and Damaia growls.

"I will not hear speak of duty again. I refuse to have this argument with a child who chooses to follow her master's leash. " Damaia breaths deeply. "The Circle's chose to disband. The infighting between you mages and your templar counterpoints is the reason that this Conclave has been called in the first place."

"You will not speak to me in this way," Mesara scoffs. "We hold your contract, which means-"

"Which means we made an accord to give you protection, not to listen to your lectures. If you had read the contract, you would know that written within it are two important points. The first of which is the nondisclosure, stating that you cannot outright discuss our methods or actions with anyone outside of those named by the contract. IE your superiors and my company. The second of which is that you accept that we have our own methods, and that includes the use of apostates."

"I-"

"No, you listen. I will not have you or your companions endanger my men. And I will not risk their freedom, or my own," Damaia's voice darkens. Scowling, she turns away. 

"If I may now speak," chiding, the green-eyed woman stands," I have read your contract. And understand fully the limits of which you speak. I too, will not risk my fellows to this war. Which is why having apostates around can be more dangerous during this time."

"Then you would need to find another Captain, as I have been an Apostate longer than I have been a mercenary." Damaia somehow manages to balance her voice between condescending and bored. Then glances towards the other. 

"I see. And I suppose your men will not follow another.... Of course, then I suppose we have come to an impasse."

"Something of the sort, or you can trust us to do our job," interjecting, Damaia stands. "You would not be the first group of mages that we have escorted, nor will it have been the first war we have fought in. You keep your fellows out of our way during any fights that pop up, and we take care of the rest. As for magic, it isn't exactly like we do this openly. There are more than a few braincells between us to realize that contract or not, openly using our talents outside of battle is a risk we cannot afford." 

Also rising, Mesara moves towards Damaia, "Then we have come to an agreement. I will not judge you for your lifestyle, nor endanger your freedom. Per the contract. And you do whatever you can from keeping my companions out of the crossfire."

"And here I thought that was all accepted when your superiors signed. But I am glad that there need not be any variables on either of our behalf's." Damaia pauses, "I do apologize for my earlier tone. It has been a sore subject of late. Especially with Leon's arrival. Took a bit for him to come to terms with it. But he also has the option of walking away whenever we next run into templars."

"I- I am surprised that he has not rejoined the order already. He was- devout in his belief in the order, and the Chantry's laws."

"So devout that he wouldn't fall in love with a mage?" Despite her teasing tone, Damaia watches Mesara closely for her reaction. Rewarded when she again notices the same face that Mesara had had when she had caught Leon watching her. 

"It wasn't like that. We had been close. Something akin to childhood friends. We both grew up in the Circle.... There were rumors that Leon's mother had been a mage, and the Templars had taken him in from the orphanage to start his training." Mesara's voice had grown soft, thick with the memories. "I was nine when I manifested. He was eleven when he first starting visiting the circle. The Templars all trained in the Chantry, but they would often have recruits shadow the older members of the order. Watch them as they went about their duties, to allow them to familiarize themselves with both the Order and the dangers of days surrounded by mages learning their craft."

Damaia listens, allowing the younger woman to go through her story without pause. 

"And we would often go to the sermons as one, those of us who were younger. They didn't want to overwhelm us with older ideals and lessons. So, they held a separate service. I would often find his eyes on me during those times. And as we grew older, we managed to find time to talk. After he took his vows, I would find ways to study in the library during his guard duty. Or to walk with him to meals. I knew that his presence had protected me more than once from some of the surlier Templars. Those who would visit trouble upon the mages. I took comfort in his company, as I hoped he took comfort in mine."

"And then he left?"


	6. The Tales that I Do Spin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the girls find common ground, and Damaia lays the groundwork for adoption.

Mesara nodded. 

"He was reassigned. Kinloch needed more Templars after what had happened. Some of our mages left as well. I was too young to be transferred. Only 15. Too young to even be considered for Harrowing yet. I tried writing to him, for a time, but I don't think any of my letters left the tower, and I am certain the ones I tried having my cousin sent were destroyed. Family didn't approve of the friendship, of course." She could feel her voice cracking. Tried to fight against the heaviness of the words. Her eyes misting. It had been hard, Mesara did not easily make friendships, despite her many acquaintances. Losing Leon had hurt almost as much as being sent away from her mother. Of being told she could never live in her home again. 

She was caught off guard by the deep voice of the other woman. "He was your family. Understandable that it broke you a little to have him be sent away." Mesara wipes the tears from her eyes quickly. 

"We learn not to form lasting attachments in the Circle, many would have short trysts, but I never stooped to that level. After all, I had been raised from birth to understand that it would never be my place to fall in love. That my match would be made for me, for the good of my family. The circle was no different, instead, I just wasn't going to have any husband, instead of one I might have despised. I knew that there was no place for such thoughts."

"Sounds lonely," She felt the large hand settle on her shoulder, and leaned into its warmth for but a moment. Allowing herself to accept this small bit of affection. What Mesara had not been expecting was being pulled into a hug by the larger woman. "Oh!"

The woman was warm, comforting. She could feel the subtle thump of Damaia's heart. Mesara lifted her arms, wrapping them about Damaia's waist, and pressed herself deep into the embrace. The tears started fresh. She sobbed quietly, allowing Damaia to pet her hair and whisper words in a language she did not understand. 

Eventually, Mesara pulled away. Huffing softly. "My kohl is bound to be ruined." She turned away to wipe at her ruined make up. Attempting to hide the soft hiccups. 

She hears the rumbling chuckle behind her, and turns. Dark blue eyes lock on hers. 

"You really are something. How many years did it take to build up that wall. No wonder you needed the affection."

"I've no idea what you mean."

"Of course, you don't. But if you need it again, let me know. I can remember what it was like to live without it."

Mesara paused at that, her brows furrowing. "What do you mean."

"What I mean, is that until my 10th summer, I lived under the Qun. My mother was a Tamassaran, my father Kithshok just back from his tour of duty is Seheron. Of course, I didn't know it at the time, that they were my parents, I mean. The Qun does not allow for personal attachments. Imekari, children, under the Qun have no parents. No mated pairs. Just Tamassaran's who help to raise them, teach them, guide them towards the life that would be best. From what my mother says, I was pegged as Arvaarad. Mage-Leashers, similar to your templars, ironic when I think about it. But they took me, well, we escaped. Turned out my father had had dealings with Tal'Vashoth. Took 10 years of secret letters and visits, but somehow convinced my mother to follow him and drag me along with them. Lost their 'purpose'. It's all a bit fuzzy, my memories of that time. But I remember some of the teachings. Of the stories. I remember not hugging, or at least not being hugged, until we all settled down on their sheep farm. We don't really discuss it anymore. "

Mesara felt a little lost after the confession, despite how blaise about it Damaia had been. A life without family, escaping the Qun, and then.... "Sheep farm?"

"Yeah, parents decided that they had seen enough of the excitement. A sentiment I truly do not share. I like keeping on the move," she shrugs. A wide smile breaking out on her face. "Helps that I am an Apostate, gives me plenty of excuses to keep moving. Have to keep out of reach of the Templars, Circles, and Qunari who enjoy hunting down Tal-Vashoth."

"I see. So, you enjoy being on the run?" Mesara couldn't keep the skepticism from tempering her tone. She had may not have enjoyed being in the Circle at all times, but she certainly appreciated that it gave her a sense of security. A home. 

"Kept me from getting in too much trouble." At that Mesara laughs lightly. Damaia joins her, for obvious reasons. "However, we should get you cleaned up and back to the dining hall, wouldn't want the poor Teryn coming to look for his lost lamb."

Winking, Damaia wipes at Mesara's face with her thumb, getting off what she can of the ruined eye liner. Mesara allows her for a moment, and then steps away, heading back towards the basin of water. Lifting the already ruined cloth from it to completely wipe off what she has so carefully applied earlier in the day. She felt better, much to her own surprise, and caught the other woman smiling with that sly look in her eye. Mesara wondered if she had learned to read other people so well due to her history, or if it was just some magical trait as yet unexplored by Circles. 

"You didn't have to comfort me," she states point blank.

"No, but I wouldn't be who I am if I hadn't." Mesara rolls her eyes, that answered exactly zero percent of what she had meant. And the smirk on Damaia's face announced that that had been her exact intent. 

"Tell me, is Vashta, that was his name, right, similar to you?"

"No, but his story is his own. The most I will say without him here is that he lived much longer under the Qun."

"I thought I had overheard you say that he was your kin.... Did your family not take him as well?"

"No, he and I share no blood that we know of. But he was in my Imekari group. Children of the same age. It was a large group, but I remember him specifically. Mostly because he and I used to clash constantly. Apparently one day I beat him up well enough that he fell in line. Left him a little scar on his hip, still has it!" Damaia came off as inordinately proud of this achievement. Mesara could only shake her head. 

"It would seem as if you had lived a life time together, the way you speak of him."

"In a way, it was. He has had my back since he joined up, well, since he tracked us down. His is my brother, by vow if not by blood." The warm look in Damaia's eyes makes Mesara recall her dearest cousin. The one's whose perfume bottles she used to steal. She nods slightly.

"That is something that I can understand. Chosen family is often closer than the real thing. Though I have never really had that bond, I had seen other mages form it amongst themselves."

Mesara finishes cleaning up the last of her make up. Turning to Damaia with a clear face. "Come, we should return, as you stated. "

Damaia nods and opens the door for Mesara, arm sweeping forward in a gallant manner, "After you Serah."

Mesara rolls her eyes once more before exiting the room. Wondering what she was getting herself into by opening up to the Qunari. Not that it mattered much, as the deed was done. Though, her instinct told her that she could trust her. 

Mesara walks alongside Damaia, pressing her lips together. Then stops. Green eyes wide. "You said you almost killed Leon?!"

The Qunari grimaces, and runs her hand through her hair. "Yeah, I thought you had caught that. There was a fight, he attacked me, I pinned him, lots of yelling. You get the picture?"

"Wait," Mesara raises an eyebrow quizzically. "You pinned him? Aren't you a mage?"

"Being a mage is no excuse for letting muscles go to waste," Damaia lifts her chin imperially. "Also, I happen to be taller and heavier than him. It helps." 

Mesara moves as if to speak.

Damaia smiles slyly. "Although I am sure that he wouldn't mind if you pinned him down either."

Mesara's cheeks went bright red, she turns around with a flourish, mouth pressed shut. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In regards to Damaia's history with the Qun:  
> I know that it might not be exactly canon with current knowledge of the Qun and Par Vollen. I am doing research as I write this and trying to match up her story with what I know and what I want for her. If there is some part that I have messed up, feel free to let me know and I will do my best to clear it up in future chapters.


	7. To Wash Away My Fears*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damaia seeks comfort and understanding from an old friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please Note: There have been changes to the rating and the tag. 
> 
> There is smut in this chapter. It is not necessary to the story line to read, so feel free to skip over it. I will mark where the smut begins, and it goes until the end of the chapter. From now on any chapter with smut will be marked with *

There was a sort of truce between the two as they made their way back into the banquet hall. Damaia watched as Mesara made her excused and returned to her previous seat, engaging in conversation with Carintha. Damaia assumed she was explaining some of the conversation that they had had regarding the mercenaries. 

Vashta motioned slightly, and then followed Damaia as she steps back outside the doorway. Crossing his wide arms and leaning up against the outer wall. 

"Everything okay Demona?"

"Yeah, poor girl is more innocent than she appears. Let loose a few slips of affection towards our templar friend, which will make our lives a bit more interesting. Seeing how that plays out. Also had a bit of an argument about the contract and our particular methods of making things happen."

"Let me guess, the circle mage wasn't very excited about working with apostates."

Damaia smirks over at her kin. He rolls his charcoal eyes and huffs with disgust. 

"Don't worry about it Vashta, I handled it. She understands the contract prevents her from taking action. She agreed to keep her kith out of our way, and we can deal with any problems as needed. Plus," Damaia leans up against his shoulder, whispering, "I get the feeling she is more than meets the eye. She will loosen up as we go along. And if not, the contract ends once we get them to Haven."

Vashta wraps his arm around Damaia, pulling her close. Damaia goes willingly into the embrace. Wrapping her arms about his chest. "The others are more accepting. The two younger ones have been trying to pry information about healing magic from Clarrisse for the past half hour. And the Tranquil has been very happily, I think, droning on about enchantments with our resident weapons enthusiast for twice as long."

"Good, I love when people get along. Makes our work less difficult. You know how I always say it's easier to protect something you care about," she smiles and presses her forehead against his shoulder. 

"Damaia, you would say that you cared about any person you passed by so long as they looked like they needed affection or care."

Damaia pauses, looks up at Vashta, then nods. "This is very true."

"Not that I have reason to complain, your mothering did pull me back from the edge," his laugh rumbles in his chest. "For spending half your childhood without one, you mother others very well."

"You only think that because you never had one, Vashta." She sighs as she pulls away from him. Then leans up to ruffle his short white hair. "Come, we should rejoin the banquet before they put all the food away. Tomorrow is going to be a long day."

Vashta swats her hand aside, then places his own on the back of her head. Pulling at her until he can drop a chaste kiss to her hair. "As you say, Kadan." 

The two walk back into the hall, and take their separate seats. 

The rest of the evening passing without further incident, as the two groups begin to learn more of each other. There is an easy peace between them. 

Teryn Fergus eventually excuses himself for the evening, and slowly the group breaks off one by one. Each turning in for the night. 

Readying themselves for travel the next morning. 

Vashta and Damaia are the last to leave, ensuring that everyone has made it safely to their quarters and bunks. Ever protective of their charges. 

Vashta escorts Damaia to the room that she had been assigned. Opening the door and looking in, eyes roaming quickly for anything that seemed out of place. 

"You realize that we have only ever been ambushed that way once?" Her voice is playful, but she keeps her face straight. 

"Which gives me more than enough reason to check." Dark eyes catch on blue, and he raises an eyebrow at Damaia. Then lets his eyes flick back to the bed.

"No."

"I do not know what you mean Kadan," his grin widens.

"You know exactly what I mean, and the answer is no."

"Asit Tal-Eb, Kadan."

Damaia stops short the taunt that had sat on her tongue. She feels her breath catch in her chest. 

She takes a step back. 

Vashta blinks, and then realizes his error. "Damaia, I am sorry. Please, you know-"

She raises a hand, cutting him off. "I know. There is nothing to apologize for." 

Damaia moves her hand to press against Vashta's chest. Taking a deep breath. "The words still catch me off guard. It is still so easy to fall back into them, and more so for you Taam-kasari."

"I am that no longer, I have chosen a new name, a new purpose."

"I know. You are not what they made you. You were trying to escape that even when-"

"Yes Kadan. Parshaara, we need not dwell on the past. It is done."

"Of course," Damaia lets loose a shakey breath. Vashta furrows his brow. 

"What brought this on? The words do not often shake you so."

"I told Mesara some of my past. She needed affection, I let her know that I knew what that was like. Shook up some of the old memories. Sometimes," Damaia closes her eyes and drops her head. "It does not matter how long it has been, I feel the need for purpose pull at me. Have the words swirl in my head. Even if they are fuzzy, even if I can barely understand some of them anymore."

Vashta presses her chin upward with a single finger. "Then perhaps it is you who needs affection now, Demona." 

He lowers his lips to hers. His left-hand gripping at her hip, pulling her tight to him. Damaia gasped, and Vashta took the opportunity to delve his tongue into her mouth. Exploring as he had so many times before. 

As she relaxed in his familiar grip, Damaia felt him pulling her into the room.

She followed. Letting him take the lead in this dance. It was not the first time that they had sought comfort in each other, and likely it would not be the last. 

Then a stray thought scatters her intent. Damaia pulls herself free of Vastha's grip. Feeling him growl in displeasure as he tries to pull her back. 

"Vashta, what of Clarrisse. I will not let you hurt her."

"Clarrisse does not object. She has known of us since I first made it clear my intent was to woo her. I would not seek out her attention under false statements, Kadan. You know that she cannot bear to be touched in many circumstances. She has given me leave to find such comforts, even while seeking her heart."

Damaia searches Vashta's face. She knew that he was a man of his word. Had proven as much to her many times. Had no reason to lie. Damaia smiles softly. 

"Thank you."

"I would not hurt you, Kadan, not by lying, and not by hiding you away." Vashta lifts a hand from her waist to run it through her course hair. Brushing through it with his fingers. Winding it in his grip. 

**********************************************************************************************************************************************

 

Pulling tightly enough to expose her throat. 

Damaia moans lowly, allowing her neck to be bent back by the action. Eyes slipping shut. 

Vashta kicks shut the door behind them. Chuckling darkly. Damaia uses the moment to even out her breathing, keeping herself under control. Allowing Vashta to pull her closer, one hand on her hip, the other wound tightly through her hair. Her hands roam over the vast planes of his chest. Her fingertips barely tracing the outlines of scars and wounds that litter his body. 

Vashta presses kisses to her neck, lips feathering over the vein. Feeling the pulse jump as he nips at it. He lets out a hiss as Damaia curls her fingers into claws, and drags the nails downward. Responding in turn by biting deeply into the place where her neck joins her shoulders. His right hand moves to the tie keeping her wrappings bound. Releasing it with deft fingers. 

Vashta releases Damaia's hair from his grip, placing soft kisses where he had bit her. Following the line of her neck. Then whispers in her ear. 

"Show me, Kadan."

It was a part of their ritual. Each time, Damaia unwound the cloth from herself. Showing that she was choosing to take part. Choosing to share herself with him. 

She steps back. Allowing his gaze to roam over her toned body. Eyes dark with desire. 

Damaia takes the left edge, and begins to unwind it from herself. Rolling it up with practiced ease. Feeling the muscles in her body shift as she reaches behind to uncross the two halves. 

She takes her time. This is not a rushed tryst.

When she is finally done, she sets the rolled cloth on top of the pack she had sent with the servants earlier. Ensuring that it would not be damaged. Then turns to face Vashta.

He runs his fingertips over her arms, keeping his eyes on her face. 

"You are beautiful, Katari. My beautiful lightning storm."

Damaia smiles, her expression sharp. "You only say that because I will shock you otherwise."

"I say it because I mean it." He draws her close once more. "I say it because I choose to."

Presses a kiss to her neck, just beneath her ear. 

"I say it because I am free to." He whispers. Sending shivers up her spine.

His calloused hands tracing the length of her torso. Thumbs outlining the swell of her breasts. She hisses in a breath, and turns to capture his lips in her own once more. Catching his hands with her own. Entwining their fingers. 

Vashta allows her to guide their path. Massaging gently at the globes at her unspoken commands. Teasing around the edges of her nipples. He nips at her bottom lip, smiling into the kiss as she giggles. 

Her breath immediately catching in her throat as he flicks the tender nubs. Then runs both palms soothingly over the surface. Rolling their hands over the flesh. She squeezes his hands in her own. Begging for more without making a sound. Her breathing growing harsh. 

Vashta takes that as the cue to begin rolling her right nipple between thumb and forefinger. And moves the hands on the other side down along her rib cage. 

He pulls back slightly to watch her face. Taking in the sight of her fluttering eyes. Watching her chest heave with each breath. Watching his hand carve a path down to her skirt. Her own hands having released him, gripping at his biceps. Fingers digging tighter with every moment. 

Damaia whines as Vashta lowers his mouth to her left nipple. Feeling him suckle at it gently. Vashta rolls his tongue against the flesh. Letting his teeth brush against it. His right hand tugging at the ties keeping her skirt on her body. Her own hands now fumbling with the ties of his loose pants. Snarling as she pulls them free.

As Vashta manages to loosen the knot, he begins to push down the material of both her skirt, and the small shorts she wears beneath it. Letting them fall to the floor in a heap around Damaia's ankles. He moves both hands around her waist, keeping his face buried in her chest, and lifts. Damaia's legs slip off the last of her clothing, then move to wrap around his hips instantly. Locking her ankles behind his back. 

Vashta carries her over to the bed. 

He leans over, letting himself fall onto his hands. Trusting Damaia to hold herself in place. He crawls to the head of the bed. Then lowers them both gently. Pining Damaia down with his hips, forearms on either side of her head. Lifting slightly to look in her eyes, searching them for his answer. She pushes down his trousers with her feet in reply. Until he kicks them off of his ankles. 

Damaia whines once more. "Please Kadan. Show me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the fabulous @hoehoeholt for helping to beta this chapter. 
> 
> It has been years since I last wrote smut, so I apologize if the pacing seems off or if I lost track of limbs. Please let me know what I can do better, or if you enjoyed it as is. 
> 
> Again, in regards to the Qun, I am researching as I go along. So I apologize for any mistakes in culture or language.


	8. A New Path to Begin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saying goodbye in style, and starting a new path.

Mesara jolted awake, the hazy edges of the dream still pulling at her mind. She groans and pressed her palms to her temples. Attempting to rub away the residual pain. Mesara would swear that her nightly visits to the fade were becoming more turbulent with each passing day. As though the demons were becoming more aggressive. 

Or more cunning. 

She could still hear the voice of the desire demon who was the latest to tempt her. A voice that belonged to one still sleeping in this very estate. A voice edged with emotions she couldn't name. 

Mesara shook her head, trying to shake off the thoughts. Moving quickly to the water basin that had been refreshed before she had awoken. Dipping in her hands and splashing the water over her face. Patting her face dry, she did her best to rid herself of the phantom memories, instead setting herself to ready for a day of travel. She lets out a slow breath. 

Then turns to her pack to pull out her traveling robes. Subtle and lacking her usual circle symbols, Mesara eyes them in disgust. She knew why they had been given these particular robes for the journey. They made the mages look more like scholars than like threats. However, she found them itchy and distasteful, and felt that they did little to nothing for her coloring. 

She slipped out of her nightdress, and shimmied into her cotton chemise. Then began to work on the ties of her corset when she hears a knock.

"Just a moment!" She calls out, exasperated. Quickly wrapping her dressing gown about her person. Mesara rushes over to the door and pulls the latch clear, opening it just enough to peer out. 

And found Fergus Cousland  smiling at her. 

Mesara pursed her lips, glaring at him for a moment, then allowed the Teryn entrance. 

"I apologize for coming uninvited my lady, however I felt that I should return the favor of your previous visit in my study."

"While I will always appreciate your company, dear Teryn, I do object to your timing. As you can see, I am not quite decent. Which makes this visit quite improper." Mesara quipped. 

"While I do not make it a habit to seek out ladies in their dressing gowns, and again pardon my poorly timed intrusion, I cannot state that I much regret my mistake." Teryn Fergus smiles widely while glancing down at Mesara.

She swats at his arm even while clutching the dressing gown more closely about her person. 

"Ow, please, I surrender...."Teryn Fergus chuckles while trying to defend himself from her soft hits. Then catches one of Mesara's hands. "However, I did not come here to impugn upon your honor."

He pauses and coughs into his fist. Coloring slightly. 

Then looks into Mesara's eyes. 

"Quite the opposite actually. I- I wanted to give you something. A token, I suppose. To keep me in the running." He pulls out a small box from his pocket, presenting it to Mesara.

"To keep you in the running?" Mesara furrows her brows, looking down at the small box, tied as it was in a ribbon. Accepting it from the Teryn with a quizzical expression.  

"I have seen the way that he looks at you, Lady Trevelyan. It was the same look that first caught my late wife's attention. That sort of open eyed awe." He gently unties the ribbons, letting them fall against her palms, and lifts the top of the box. 

Mesara gasps at the treasure that lies within. 

A bracelet, made of silver filigree in the shapes of delicate blooming daises on vines, with a small gem placed in the center of each flower. 

Fergus lifts the bracelet out of the box with one hand, and takes the box from Mesara with the other. 

"It was my mother's. One of the first gifts my father gave to her when he courted her. She often claimed that the gift gave her strength to face the struggles of life at Court when she might have otherwise wanted to flee. That it gave her a sense of peace she could draw on." With his free hand, Fergus lifts up Mesara's left wrist, holding it as gently as he holds the bracelet. "I do not fear that you will not thrive in the Conclave, only that you might lose the gentle spirit I have so recently come to enjoy. So it is my hope, that you too, might find some comfort in these flowers."

Mesara feels her eyes begin to mist as he speaks, and simply nods. Having lost her voice. Accepting the gift that the Teryn had so thoughtfully offered. She holds up her wrists as he clasps the bracelet to it. And then gasps when he takes her hand and brings his lips to it in a gentle kiss. 

"I also hope that it properly conveys my wish to be thought of as more than a pen pal." He states sardonically. Winking up at her. Mesara blushes brightly, and glances away. 

"You know I cannot accept any offers of-"

Fergus cuts off Mesara, pressing a finger to her lips. Her eyes widen at the contact. 

"I am making an offer of courtship. I understand well the rules of the Circle, and also that the Circle was disbanded by the mage rebels," Teryn Cousland pauses. "I also understand that you will be spending a great deal of time with a certain Templar. One whom I have gathered you have a history with. I am also more than aware that he is much nearer to your age than I am, and that can make a difference. If you choose to pursue other options, or no option at all, I will hold no hard feelings against you, Mesara. I know more than most that you cannot force matters of the heart. I just wanted to make my interest extremely clear, with no room for misinterpretations."

Mesara nods quietly. Her breath shallow as she looks over his honest face.

Teryn Fergus pulls back his hand enough just to cup her cheek. 

"Thank you," she whispers. Pressing her cheek to his hand, ever so slightly. And then pulling away. "I will treasure it greatly. As I will treasure our continued acquintance... Fergus."

His face lights up, smiling warmly. "Now, I must excuse myself, Lady Trevelyan. As I fear my being here quite inappropriate given that you are... indecent."

He quirks a smile and laughs as Mesara hurriedly pulls her dressing robe tight once more. Then Fergus exits the room with a humble bow. 

Mesara bites at her bottom lip as she runs a finger over the bracelet. Sensing immediately the calm that he had spoken of his Mother enjoying. There were places in the filigree that were well worn by touch. Mesara found that this aided the affect even more. She took a deep breath, letting her eyes slip shut. And relaxed. Letting the thoughts of her upcoming journey across unstable country, of the fights that would be struck at Conclave, the prospect of meeting so many who might wish her harm for her beliefs. 

She whispers a small prayer to Andraste, thanking the lady for her kindness in allowing Mesara to meet Fergus Cousland. 

Then returns to the arduous task of preparing herself for the journey ahead. Stuffing the dull travel attire into her pack and choosing something more suited to her tastes. 

A gown of swirling silvers and greens, with a tight bodice and loose sleeves that stopped at her elbow. The flowing skirts slit on both sides to the hip. Presumable to allow for riding, but Mesara found that they quite fit her style of casting. Allowing for a dancer's grace while still carrying the imposing fashion of the high courts. 

When she emerges from what was her temporary rooms, she is a vision of courtly prestige. Armed with magic and poise. Hair twisted back in the way of the Antivan nobles, eyes lined with kohl and black powder. A delicate bracelet clasped to her wrist. She holds to her staff as if it were her scepter. She refused to go as anything lesser than what she was, a Trevelyan, proud and devout.

Mesara goes to greet the others, meeting with them at the front gates. Catching the gaze of each of her fellow Loyalists, holding her head tall and her back straight. 

Carintha sniffs, "I thought that Senior Enchanter Lillith had stated we were to travel as inconspicuously as possible."

"I do not see the Senior Enchanter here, do you?" Mesara retorts. "I do however, know that myself and Captain Damaia have come to an agreement about our travel arrangements. And seeing as you have yet to make a single decision, Enchanter Carintha, it has been agreed that I be given command of the mages. That way there is a clear chain of command should orders need to be given or followed. It would not be wise to allow ourselves to come to harm over a squabble of power whilst on a field of battle, would it?"

Carintha glares hotly as Mesara, then bows her head in acceptance. 

"Now, are we all ready to be on our way?"

"Ready when you are, my lady," Damaia smirks. "We can get horses on the way out, wouldn't want to go stealing too many of the good Teryn's mounts." A chorus of chuckles comes from the Frostblades behind her. 

"Very well, then we should go." Mesara turns to see Fergus walking up to the battlements, her eyes follow him until he moves out of sight. 

Her attention is pulled away by a hand at her elbow. 

Leon smiling shyly as he tries to catch her attention. "I was wondering if I might walk with you Mesara, like we used to. Plus, Damaia said that some of us should pair up with the mages while we travel. She thinks it will help should we run into any bandits or other templars. Keep them from cornering you off or separating anyone from the group. The rest will keep a roving guard around the edges."

Mesara nods slightly. "That sounds like a good idea. She seems to have a good head for command."

Leon huffs a quick laugh, then pushes back the hair from his face. "The Frostblades were good enough to face down a full squad of templars and come out on top. I've not quite seen a group as well coordinated as they are. Though I have heard tale of a group called the Chargers, or something like that, that is more sought after in Orlais. Vashta keeps tabs on them supposedly. He seems to keep tabs on quite a few things."

"Like their mage healer?"

"Oh, yeah, he's protective of her. I think they are an item, but I can't seem to get a straight answer on it from the others. Just mumblings about how I will understand eventually, or that it's some sort of Qunari thing." He shrugs, and offers Mesara his arm to escort her. Mesara loops her own arm through his. The two chatter about the time that they had spent apart. Mesara listening to the stories that Leon had garnered while in Kinloch hold as they rebuilt, and then during his time traveling with the mages trying to capture the rogue mages after the rebellion. She explains the studies that she had recently taken up in the circle, and her attempts to learn more about the ways of the Knight Enchanter. Warmth returns easily to their friendship, despite so many years apart. Warmth that helped to sooth an ache Mesara did not quite understand. 

As they start on the road leading away from the estate, Mesara glances back, catching sight of Fergus standing tall on the battlement, keeping vigil over the group of mages as they left. One arm crossed over his chest in salute. She lifts her chin, pausing but for a moment, touching her hand to the bracelet at her wrist, and then turning back to face the road she now walks beside her oldest friend. Heading towards what she believes will be one of the most important events of her life.

 


	9. Hiding Beneath a Thin Veneer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing like a bit of danger to keep us on our toes. Why running into old friends isn't always a good thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a point of view change in this chapter from Damaia to Vashta. It will be marked by -- to indicate where the break is. Feel free to let me know if it isn't clear enough.

_This is going to be a long journey._  Damaia groans internally. It had only been a few hours, and already the mages required a break to rest and nourish themsleves. She grit her teeth and eyed the group of Circle Mages, weighing which ones were going to be the most trouble on their way.

Pietro seemed to be in the best shape, which made sense considering he had managed for months after escaping Kirkwall before being recaptured and sent to Ostwick. Damaia noticed that the man was less skittish and paranoid now that he was surrounded by the mercenaries. She quietly wondered if he might join them after reaching Haven, she would need to speak to Vashta and Talon about the possibility. Reen kept pace with him, the casteless dwarf regaling the man with his tales of his time being stuck in the Deep Roads. 

The Tranquil, Benton, didn't complain, and she didn't expect him to. But Damaia had noticed that he had begun to take deeper breaths, and shorter steps. He had obviously needed the rest. Damaia marked that he would require someone to keep track to ensure he didn't push himself to exhaustion. She had assigned Kurt to escort him, and neither seemed to mind as they continued their endless conversation regarding weapons enchantments and possible improvements. But, Damaia knew that Kurt could get caught up in his passion enough to fail to recognize when the Tranquil would need to stop.

Juliana had been assigned to the young enchanter, Tiane. The girl lagged behind on occasion, but Juliana ensured that she never fell too far behind. Damaia could tell that the young one hadn't had a chance for much more than studying. Damaia made a mental note that Tiane would probably require a mount more often to keep from exhaustion.

She had been pleasantly surprised by the apprentice, Dalen. The boy had initially requested to scout alongside Xavier, as the man did his constant rounds circling the outskirts of their perimeters. While Damaia had needed to deny this request, with Mesara's firm approval of the denial; she had allowed him to pair with Trevior. The two would occasionally scout at the front or take a sweep at the tail end of the caravan; moving often between the two positions. Damaia had also happened to overhear a conversation regarding the agility needed to learn how to pick locks. A conversation that she would not be forwarding to the red-headed leader of their band. 

Mesara had taken up the offer from Leon to have him escort her, and with Talon keeping stride along-side Carintha; Damaia had all heads counted for. Talon and Leon would ensure the two mage leaders would keep pace, or make sure that Damaia would stop to allow them rest. 

She let her eyes fall on the others of her band. Clarrisse stayed close to her, she could tell that the blonde elf was still feeling uncomfortable around the other mages. Damaia flashed her a quick smile before continuing her head count. Vashta kept up the rear guard. Xavier had checked in a few minutes ago before bolting off again, as was his way. She had sent off Paka with Harold a few hours ago to start the haggling for the necessary mounts at the next town. Vierran was currently pulling out rations for the entire group, and handing out cups full of water as well. While Nikier took his usual place at the front of the caravan. 

Damaia huffed,  _we are spread too thin. If anyone were to attack us, the mages would need to be corralled in the center. Then we can form a wall around them._

She knew that each member of her crew knew their positions. She knew that they had each run through a dozen variations of the maneuvers. Damaia knew that each of these insecurities were what it meant to lead, Talon had warned her as much more times than she could recall. 

"You have five minutes for rest before we need to move again!" She barks the order, standing straighter. "If you want to make it to the Conclave on time we can't stop for rest every three hours. Once mounts are secured, mages can ride, but the mounts will need rest and walking as well. So that means you need to get used to being on your feet. Also, when we camp tonight, your escort will tent near you, so that they are in reach. They can each show you how we set up camp. We will be keeping you all centered, with our tents making an outer circle."

She paused here to see if they had absorbed the information, then nods tensely. Damaia hated protection missions, it was easier to destroy than to protect. Which made her job harder and every wannabe rival's easier. Damaia turns to keep watch for when Xavier would be making his next check in, assuming that the group would be on the move again before he could complete the circuit. Xavier was their first line of defense, his roving keeping them aware of any outside threats moving in their direction. She didn't think that there would be any trouble this close to Highever, but knew better than to assume anything. 

After their rest period was up, the group begins to move again. 

Damaia begins to worry when the sun passes its zenith, and Xavier has not checked in. 

She signals for the stop, fist held high in the air. Then flicks her hand to signal for silence. Straining her ears for any sound. Her company quieting any noises that the mages make. 

One count, two. Nothing. She holds for a count of ten before she catches it. 

The high four note whistle. 

Xavier's signal for danger. 

"Frostblades, circle up!" She commands, pulling her staff from the holster on her back. That whistle was too far away. Xavier was too far away. Damaia hesitated only a moment. 

"Mesara, Vashta, take command. Keep tight, keep low. Clarrisse, barrier. I'm gonna find him!"

She took off running, trusting her second to keep things from falling apart on this end. Damaia refused to let her scout fall because she had been too busy listening to whining children. She cursed under her breath, reverting to using Qunlat as her frustration builds. She strains to hear a repeat of the signal. Pushing herself the to run as quickly as her body will take her. 

The sound comes again, sharper, clearer. She jolts left. Following the direction of the sound. Praying to whatever god will listen.

It's fifteen minutes before she makes it to the origin of the whistling. Her eyes scanning forest line. She hears the signal again, this time from above her, off to the right. Damaia signals the return, two sharp high notes. She catches sight of an arm dangling from a net that has been lifted high into an oak.

"Damaia!" Xavier shouts as he sees the Qunari. Damaia scrambles towards him, quickly untying the rope from the tree's base. Straining to lower the male down without dropping him. "You shouldn't have separated from the others!"

She moves to untangle him from the net, "I don't leave good men behind. Vashta can hold the line, he kno-"

"It's the Strikers." Xavier cuts her off. Damaia's eyes widen. Her breath catching in her throat. 

"No, but we called truce with them last winter..." Her voice trails off, Damaia shakes the last of the netting away from Xavier and pulls the man to stand. 

"They aren't after us. The captain warned me they had a contract to stop mages from heading to the Conclave. Said that the only reason he was gonna let me give warning was because of the truce." Xavier uses his momentum to pull Damaia back in the direction of the road. They knew that they had no time to waste if they were going to keep the other's alive.

\--

Vashta was impressed by the way Mesara kept her cool. When Damaia handed over command he was half worried that the mage would drop the ball when it came to a combat sitution. 

Clearly this was not the case. 

The Frostblades circled up, forming a loose wall around the mages, with Clarrisse in the center to pop a barrier spell at the first sign of danger. Vashta barked a few orders, only to be drowned out by Mesara's voice. 

"Tiane, assist Clarrisse with the barriers. Pietro, you're our strongest offensive caster, if they aren't templars, strike hard and fast. Carintha, you and I will do crowd control, funnel them in and keep them from surrounding us. Benton, keep Dalen out of trouble. Dalen, stick next to that archer friend of yours and practice your support spells." Her voice commanding and strong. Vashta nodded his approval to her. 

"Frostblades, take position! Leave room for the mages to cast. No doubt that these ones will have better aim than our Demona." The mercenaries bark out a laugh while coordinating with the new orders. Leaving large enough gaps in their ranks that the mages would have room to cast and maneuver without taking friendly fire. He could hear the rustling along the forest line, indicating that they were no longer alone. 

Vashta lifts his great sword, holding it at the ready. He did not wear his Vitaar this day, but he held his Asala in his hand. He had kept the blade close to him, despite leaving the Qun. 

There were some things a person could not leave behind. 

Slowly, the enemy slides forward from between the trees surrounding them. There are enough that Vashta cannot count off hand. He scowls. His hand shoots up, two fingers up. The signal to hold at the ready. Vashta growls as he catches sight of their insignia. 

"Strikers!" He calls out, keeping the sign for hold high in the air. "We have a peace with you right now."

"We do indeed, but we also have a contract out on your charges, Frostblades. And that takes priority." The leader steps forward. Bright blue eyes hidden behind a fringe of curling blond hair. "You know how it is Vashta, no hard feelings though."

"Nicolas, I might have known you would choose to lead this mission. Still holding a grudge against Damaia?"

"Not in the least, the girl made her choice. As I have made mine, we have no quarrel with you and yours, just need to make sure those mages don't make it to Haven."

Vashta drops his hand, and moves forward to greet the other warrior. The two clasp forearms, just as Mesara breaks forward from the defense position. Leon following just behind her, weapon at the ready.

"I will not have you speak on our behalf," she keeps her head high, striding with ease. "Nicolas, was it?"

The blonde dips his head in response, breaking his hold with Vashta. "It is indeed. And you are?"

"Lady Mesara Teirna Loline Elizabeth Trevelyan, third daughter of Bann Trevelyan, of the Ostwick Circle of Magi." She holds up her hand, as if expecting the mercenary to take it. Acting nonplussed when he does not, she allows the hand to drop back into her lap. "These mages are my charges, and the Frostblades hired to protect us. Who placed the contract, if I might ask?"

"I'm not in the habit of giving away information for free, especially to a mark."

"Very well, what is the price of your contract." She stares down Nicolas, keeping her face impassive. 

"10 gold per mage we capture."

"Oh, is that all? What a pittance considering the danger you face in tracking down mages. Be glad that we found you before you faced any real danger." Vastha eyes Mesara, smile widening as he catches onto her ploy. Leon raises an eye at both, but keeps his silence. Not wanting to exchange a ready defense for words quite yet. 

"Can't imagine what it might end up like if he runs into a group of mages who cast like Demona, all wild and uncontrolled. Not to mention if any blood mages were around. Here that they can control a man like he was a puppet." Vashta shrugs and leans against his great sword, affecting boredom. Nicolas pales visibly. Vashta can only imagine the calculations he is running in his head. "I mean, you might have enough numbers to overrun a small group like this. But not without losing at least half your men. What would happen after that."

"Vashta, you know I have to honor the contract, but... "Nicolas pauses to consider his options. 

 

\--

Damaia bursts into the field, hands crackling with energy, Xavier trailing behind her. "Nicolas!"

The blond turns with wide eyes. "Damaia, we-"

"Were just having a civil conversation about risk versus reward." Mesara interjects, smoothing out her gown with disinterest. Vashta shrugs and chuckles. 

Taking in the scene before her, Damaia lowers her hands. "A civil conversation? While surrounded by fifty mercenaries with a contract to kill or kidnap?"

She can barely contain the sarcasm in her voice. 

"Of course, after all, if another contract were to take its place, it would just be a matter of who was the highest bidder. For example, if I were to pay him instead to keep the road clear of Templars who might hamper those on their way to Haven...." Mesara lets the thought linger unspoken. 

Damaia nods. "Would keep the peace between the Strikers and the Frostblades too, keeps another war from breaking out amidst all this other shit."

Nicolas shakes his head, laughing. "Why is it that you always manage to make things more complicated, Damaia." He glances over at her. "Fine, we can accept a new contract. Wasn't exactly happy at the thought of risking my men against mages anyways. At least Templars can shoot lightning or acid or earthquakes at us. We can work out the contract tonight. First, why don't we get you people to a town where you won't be a menace to anyone using the road?"

"Says the man who set an ambush?" Damaia can't help the teasing edge to her voice. 

Both Captains signal for their men to stand down. The Frostblades easily step out of position, smiling and exchanging greetings with the Strikers. Mesara glares around her. Leon exchanges confused whispers with Xavier when the scout moves over to him. 

"You know each other?"

"Nicolas was a Frostblade until he broke off on his own. Took about twenty of our second best-"

"Twenty five of the best."

"Men and women. They prefer stealth missions, kidnappings, ransom, so forth. Whereas the Frostblades are a touch more direct. As you may have noticed. Anyways, we made a peace with them shortly after they broke off. An unofficial treaty amongst mercenaries to not take contracts against each other."

"Which we have kept, and was the reason why we allowed Xavier to give warning."

Xavier chuckles slightly, "Much obliged by the way."

Damaia shakes her head and takes a deep breath. "Well, we need to make way to the town anyways. Have to gather up mounts and more supplies. You can travel with us if you wish. Since it appears you need to hammer out the details of your new contract with the Lady mage."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear that they will get to Haven soon, they just needed to learn what types of leaders the other is first. Also, if I add any more secondary characters to keep track of, I might die. <3


	10. Allowing This One Sin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Revelations bring hope. Promises are refuted, compromises are made.

It took Mesara exactly three hours and two tankards of ale purchased for Nicolas before they managed to work out an acceptable contract. She found that the mercenary captain was quite agreeable, despite their prior introductions. It also helped that the man was so clearly desperate to keep from breaking the peace with his former company. Mesara wondered what it was about the Frostblades that could keep so many very different personalities so utterly attached and loyal. But she had an inkling that much of it was due to the charasmatic Qunari Captian. 

As Nicolas left, Mesara was left to observe the distinct differences between the two groups. Her mages were quiet, a habit taught after many quiet evening meals after a prayer led by the Reverand mother. Supper was more often a time of quiet reflection after a busy day of training, classes, or experimenting.  Most of the conversation held was whispered, silent shared between those close to each other. Comparatively, the Frostblades didn't quite seem to understand even the most basic concepts of quiet or reflection. They were boisterous, as they had been when dining with the Teryn. Each was lively in their own way; even the quietest of their number was drawn into discussions and freely spoke their mind. 

Mesara also noted that the Frostblades carefully drew in the mages, a simple question posed to one or another, spread out through the evening. Opening the channels of communication further than traveling on the road together had. She caught snippets here or there of individual topics, but mostly just let her mind wander as she sips at a rather watery cup of wine. 

A hand pressed to her shoulder pulls her from her musings. 

"I hope it wouldn't be too much bother if I sit here with you Mesara? Though it did look like you were thinking awfully hard about something," Leon smiles down at her, holding a plate full of slices of meat and cheese, and half a loaf of bread. 

"Of course Leon, I'm always happy to share a meal with you. Though it appears as though your fare is quiet light for supper."

"I brought it for you. All you have eaten were a few bits of trail rations and the bird you picked at while speaking with Nicolas. You need to keep up your health Mesara," Leon places the plate as gently as he can in front of her, then moves to take the seat besite her. 

"Has it really been so little?" She asks, still half distracted by her previous thoughts. "I hadn't realized."

"You never did," Leon chuckles softly, cheeks darkeningly slightly. "You always get like this when focusing on something. Remember how often I would have to sneak you food when you were in the middle of your studies. And how often I was almost caught because of it?"

"Of course, I remember, you would tease me about my stomach growling being a distraction to your duties." 

"I couldn't remember any of the canticles over that noise." He bumps against her with his shoulder, eyes bright and warm. 

Mesara smiles in return and picks up a slice of cheese to nibble at. She catches Leon eyeing the bracelet hugging her wrist. Mesara drops her gaze subtly and refuses to acknowledge the motion. 

She wasn't ready to talk about that particular topic with him, not after what Fergus had mentioned to her. Mesara didn't dare to think that what Leon felt might be anything beyond a close friendship. No mage dared to think that of a templar. And certainly not a daughter of the house of Trevelyan. She bit at her bottom lip, worrying it between her teeth. 

"Mesara..." The word soft, but distinct enough to catch her attention once more.

 She let her gaze fall back on the Templar. 

"For someone who wants to master the Game, you are so easy to read." Leon moves to push a stray strand of hair away from Mesara's face. Then let his hand settle between the strands. He pauses for a moment to read Mesara's expression, eyes questioning.

Mesara could only assume that he found was he was searching for, as within less than a moment, he was leaning close. 

Pressing his lips to hers.

Mesara could feel her pulse jump at the unexpected contact. She felt herself melt into his touch, eyes fluttering shut. Leon pulls her tighter to him, one arm wrapping about her shoulders, while his other hand tangles amongst the red of her hair. His lips are warmer than she might have thought they would be. His touch gentler. Mesara felt her hands rise to press against his chest, whether to push him away or pull him closer she could not decide. 

And then it was over too soon. Mesara felt slightly breathless, eyes opening to stare up at Leon.  Her face slightly flushed. 

"You cannot imagine how many times I had wanted to do that, Mesara, how often I was racked with guilt for thinking about you." Leon keeps his eyes locked with hers, the color having darkened slightly. "Right now I am not a Templar, there is no Circle to tell us it's wrong."

Mesara swallows, her throat tight. 

"But I am still a Mage, Leon. I am still bound by Chantry Law, by the laws that Andraste passed down to the people. That will not change, no matter how many rail against their teachings." Her voice is naught but a whisper. 

"And I will always be bound to the leash that the chantry placed upon my neck the day I took my first draught. That does not change what I feel for you. What I have always felt, ever since I first saw you. That day, when you flung the ice about like a madwoman."

"You were there?!" Mesara exclaims, the blush strengthening on her cheeks. "Oh, that was so embarrassing. I hadn't meant to lose control like that. And then all those guards...."

Leon laughs softly, pulling her into a gentle embrace. "I was there, I watched as the First Enchanter calmed you down and vouched for you, that the Templars wouldn't strike. I liked seeing you lose control like that, especially as every time we spoke after that you were always so calm and collected. I wanted to see that again."

Mesara relaxes slightly in his grip, squeezing her eyes shut. "Leon, I can't..."

"Mesara, you can. You don't have to decide now. I know that there is more to it than just your duty as a mage." He pulls her back to look into her eyes, his tone serious. "I just want to spend time with you as I once did, before I was sent to Kinloch. I want to be close to you again. Even if not in the way that I hope, please."

"I have missed you so much, Leon, but please understand that I cannot promise anything beyond this journey. There are so many things that might change, between the Conclave and everything else going on. I do want that closeness again. But if the Circles are truly disbanded, I cannot risk anything that might put a dark light on my family. I will always be a Trevelyan first." Mesara pulls herself out of his arms, turning to face back towards the table. Hands crossed politely in her lap, hiding the way that they shake.

"Mesara, I... no- that's. Maker's arse." He huffs in frustration. "I am not looking for this to be physical in that way. I apologize, I understand that my actions might-" He stops as he catches he wild look in her eyes. "Oh, you didn't mean that. You just meant a relationship. Any relationship."

Mesara nods mutely. 

Leon casts his gaze towards the floor. Brow furrowed sullenly. 

"You are more than your family Mesara. So much more. But I apologize for any discomfort I have caused you. I shall leave you be." 

Leon abruptly stands and storms away from the table. Taking the nearby steps two at a time towards the rooms above the tavern. 

"Well, that might have gone better," Damaia's voice floats in above the general din, and Mesara turns to glance at her, watching the way she leans against the post just feet away from her table. 

"I do not know what you mean, Captain."

"I mean that lover boy over there has been all doe-eyed since your little reunion scene. As I had mentioned before," her voice is even, but her blue eyes are sharp. "You shot him down fairly neatly. Though I do imagine that he might need some time to come to terms with the fact that you prefer the dear Teryn."

"What- No- I," Mesara closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. "It isn't like that. For either of them. Neither one understands that I am simply unable to choose as I please. I am the daughter of a Bann, I knew before I manifested magic that my life would never be my own to choose. That I could enjoy the company of those around me, so long as there was no doubt upon my honor. Being a mage just made the decision simpler, because no one could marry a mage without Chantry dispensation, and those were becoming scarcer with each year."

"But do you love him?"

"I do not know what love is, let alone what I might feel towards him!" Mesara stood, facing down the Qunari with every bit of regality that she could summon. 

"Then maybe you need to tell him that, because all Leon heard was that you didn't want him."

"And what good would it do? Telling him I don't know what it is I want, that I don't understand how I feel? Because it doesn't change the fact that it is not a choice I get to make."

"It may not be your choice, but he still deserves to know what you think. Stop relying on chantry rhetoric, figure out what's going on in your head and your heart. Then tell him."

Mesara doesn't respond. Instead, she turns to take the stairs. 

"Second room on the right, kid!" Damaia says just loudly enough for Mesara to hear. 

She finds the room with ease. 

For the first time in her life, Mesara doesn't knock before entering. Leon is there, head in his hands, sitting on what passed for a bed.

"I've never done that before."

"What? I've seen you turn down plenty of men before, it can't be that new for you." His voice carries his hurt. 

"Been kissed."

He looks up, doubt in his eyes. 

"Mesara, I know how circles are. You cannot expect me to believe that no one- I mean, Andraste's tits, look at you!"

"I do not make it a habit to lie about my personal history, Du'Mort," she looks down at him, the challenge clear on her face.

"Du'mort.... ouch, I must be in trouble. I can't recall the last time you used my surname," he flinches with an awkward chuckle. 

"I was fourteen, a year before you left. You had tried reading over my shoulder and made me spill ink over the essay I had just finished drafting." Mesara's lips quirk up in the smallest of smiles.

"You would remember that, Trevelyan." Leon shakes his head, and stands. Striding over to Mesara. Taking her hands in his own. "But seriously, that was your first kiss?"

"Yes."

"Then my apologies for not making it more memorable," he runs a thumb over her knuckles. 

"And my apologies for starting a quarrel. I didn't know how to respond, having only been taught to guard myself, and my heart." She takes a deep breath, then looks him in his eyes. "Teryn Cousland made clear that he wished to court me, and that he accepted that you might have that wish as well. I turned him down at first, but he made the same point you did. For now, the Circle law's do not stand as strong as they have before. Which means I am faced with choices I would never had imagined previously."

Leons stays quiet, keeping his eyes trained on Mesara.

"I accepted his courtship, with the understanding that there was nothing set in stone. It is only fair that you have the same chance, if you would like to take it. If- you can forgive me."

"Mesara, I may not always like what you have to say, but I have never held your words against you," he pauses, "for too long, at least. You were raised to have certain expectations, I shouldn't fault you for that. Even if it hurt my pride."

Leon swallows before lifting her hands, pressing a gentle kiss to each at the knuckles. 

"It would be my honor to court you, Lady Mesara. And to have someone as high as Teryn Cousland as my rival," Leon smirks roguishly, "though I can say that I have a small advantage, having stolen your first kiss."

"Leon!" Mesara chides, despite laughing. Pulling her hands from his. Leon follows her, drawing her into his arms. Hands at her waist. 

"I have every intent to win, Mesara, and as a Templar, I can tell you I was taught to use anything that might give me an advantage. 

For the second time that day, Leon pulls her tight to him. Taking her lips, gently possessive in his actions. 

This time, Mesara does not object.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be double posting on thursday, since it took me so long to get this chapter up, and since I promised that they would start the trip to Haven.


	11. Finally the Road Seems Clear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miles to go before we sleep

They had left the next morning, after gathering up the mounts that Harold had procured for the entire group. Damaia and Vashta continued to walk, neither feeling comfortable on horses. It seemed as though the mages had minimal riding experience, which was to be expected, but with each paired up with a lead horse, there was no trouble, so long as they didn't entirely fall off. 

Damaia knew little of the contract Mesara had settled with the Strikers, but she knew it included a clause to help keep Templars and Mages from fighting along the main roads. 

It wouldn't protect the mages from bandits or infighting, but it made Damaia rest a little more at ease. Though she had chosen to keep the Frostblades in escort formation. It never hurt to be cautious. It also gave Damaia an excuse to throw together Leon and Mesara, as she continued her plot to ensure that those two had half a shot at happiness. 

She watched now as they rode close to each other, one or the other occasionally chuckling or leaning over to jab at each other. It was enough to make Damaia smile, and make Vashta shake his head. Damaia knew that Vashta had no room to talk, the way that he walked directly next to Clarrisse's horse gave away almost as much in regards to affection. 

The day passed easily, with no further trouble on their travels. The mages were surprisingly good company when Damaia didn't have to worry about their inability to keep up. She did manage to get in a few words with Pietro about the possibility of him continuing on with the Frostblades, and felt that he had reacted positively to the conversation. 

When night came, Damaia took first watch, as she often did. Allowing for the others to settle, the Frostblades setting up their bed rolls in a protective ring around the mages. 

Who had brought tents.

That they didn't know how to set up. 

Damaia sighs heavily, and then orders for a few of her company to assist in setting the tents. She signals to Vashta that she is going to find the watch spot. 

It takes her less than ten minutes to find a good spot, hidden between two trees, but just uphill enough that she can keep an eye on most of the camp without moving too much. Set sets down her pack and brings out a portion of her dried meat to gnaw on. Watching as the company begins to settle. Night falls quickly this time of year, and soon the only light is that of the fire set in the middle of camp, and of the quarter moon shining down. 

One hour later and the silence begins to settle; two hours and she can pick up some of the rowdier snores. 

Damaia squints, snatching up her staff, as she sees a figure moving amongst those sleeping. She keeps still, ensuring that no movement she makes can be seen if the figure is a threat, eyes trained tightly on it's movements. 

It isn't long before she realizes that the silhouette is moving in her direction. 

Moments later, Mesara sits sullenly on the ground beside Damaia. 

"First time sleeping on the ground?"

"Yes," Mesara pouts in response, wrapping her arms around her knees. 

Damaia keeps her face closed as she looks down at the human. Then motions for the girl to move closer. 

"Come here."

Mesara pauses, and Damaia can see the thoughts and emotions skirting over her face; but finally scoots closer to Damaia.

“Took me awhile to get used to it to. In Par Vollen, I never had to worry about a bed, it was just a fact of life. When my family left, my parents were always able to find a place to stay, and a bed for me, even if it was made with hay instead of downy. When I left to join the Frosbtblades, the first month or so, didn’t matter how tired I was, could never manage to get more than a minute or so of shut eye when on the ground.”

Damaia watches as Mesara nods, noticing that the woman was nearly asleep despite sitting up. 

“I can close my eyes, but it seems to just make it worse. Like everything is too much.” Damaia hears the strain in her voice. 

“Yeah,” Damaia drops her blanket on Mesara’s shoulders without warning, and then tugs the younger woman closer. “Just lay down, close your eyes. No funny business, cross my heart.”

Mesara nods, obviously too tired to argue. Eyelids already drooping. Damaia lets her situate herself into a decently comfortable position, head on Damaia’s lap, and legs curled up against her. Placing a hand on Mesara’s shoulder, she begins to hum. An old lullaby that her mother had learned somewhere in Par Vollen, before they had escaped. Mesara murmurs something too low for her to understand. But she knows the difference that companionship can make. 

When Vashta comes to relieve Damaia of her watch, she waves him off, refusing to move the younger woman from where she had finally fallen asleep. Vashta smiles, and nods. 

He drops a quick kiss on her forehead, whispering against her hair. "Nothing ever changes with you Demona." 

He presses his forehead to hers and nuzzles slightly. Then goes back to where his bedroll is. Damaia smiles into the night. More than willing to go without sleep for a while longer, if it means keeping her makeshift family safe.

It came as no surprise that she already counted the mages in that number, Mesara in particular. 

Damaia had a feeling that this girl was well in need of a family. 

When the morning comes, Damaia allows Mesara to act as if the exchange had never happened. She calls out her orders for formation, getting the Frostblades to rouse from their preparations. 

The Frostblades keep a steady pace, breaking only three times a day for food and water. Walking their mounts for an hour after each break. Stopping only after the sun has fallen from the sky, and rousing at day break to begin their trek again. And each night, Damaia finds Mesara curled up next to her, stating that she can't sleep. They keep up this routine for the fortnight it takes to nearly reach Haven. The Frostblades count themselves as lucky that there are no further incidents past the first day.

Damaia can tell that the pace is wearing down the mages, and advises Mesara that they should take a full day's rest at Haven prior to continuing on to the Conclave. 

"We are about a day's ride away from Haven, and half a day past that to get to the temple. Once you take you get your group back up to fighting fit, I can send a group of my men to escort you."

"You say that as if you do not intend to join us."

Damaia bows her head slightly in deference. "That is correct, I have zero intention of hanging out where a bunch of people are going to be preaching and yelling about which way is the best way to follow a dead matyr's wishes. I've survived this not by not getting too close to the people who want to shove me into a tower. I also have no wish to subject Clarrisse to further harassment. "

"Your contract states that you are to escort us to the Conclave-"

"And the Frostblades will. Talon has agreed to lead the Frostblades once more. Vashta would have, but refuses to leave Clarrisse's side, as per usual."

Mesara pauses, Damaia can see the question written on her features. "Yes, Leon will be joining you as well, I assume. Though that is for him to decide. He was never actually an official member of my crew. And I have the feeling that that boy will follow where ever you lead, my lady Mage."

Damaia smirks at the blush that statement evokes, then coughs lightly behind her hand. 

"I am glad that you two seem to have come to an accord, I was worried I might have to take measures to save us from Templar moping. Those templars could make a sport of it, I swear." Damaia winks benevolently, then leans over to pat Mesara on the head. "You both are more than welcome to stay on with the Frostblades, should everything turn belly up. We could use a few more competent mages, though it would mean more sleepless nights on the ground."

Mesara smiles warmly, then nods. "It shall be a consideration. Depending on what may happen at the Conclave. Though I do fear that it may take some weeks for anything conclusive to happen."

"I'm sure that there will be plenty in Haven to keep us occupied. Some of the crew has grown a bit attached to you mages. Would hate to part ways without having a proper goodbye. Mostly including booze and dancing," Damaia pauses, then looks down at Mesara, "you can dance, can't you?"

"Of course, I didn't stop my training when I went to the Circle. I did still have to visit home on occasion, at which point I was expected to behave the proper daughter of a Bann, despite my being a mage also."

"So, what you are saying, is that you know how to dance, just not how to  **dance**."

Mesara simply quirks an eyebrow in response. 

"Well, we can show you when you manage to wrap things up with the big wigs. Come along, Lady Mage, miles to go before we sleep."

Damaia falls into step alongside Mesara's horse. She looked forward to reaching Haven, and the ability to pause for no reason other than to enjoy pleasant company, Damaia knew that they would figure out a way to keep from having to part too far from the Circle Mages. After all, it was rare that she didn't manage to scrape together some sort of plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, they are making headway towards their destination. I apologize for this being a shorter chapter, for some reason it felt like I was dragging out the transition too much while writing it.

**Author's Note:**

> More information about characters and storylines (as well as RP pages) can be found at my Tumblr page. @marquis1305  
> Feel free to reach out! I love interaction. <3


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